I see myself standing alone among people who are my own
I enrich the silence between our talks
In a constant struggle if its right or wrong
To whom I show my affection, am I not being fake to you?
Still, my heart beats the same, though I feel I am not who I was to you
I long for days of joy and symphony
Slowly have developed a liking for melancholy
Waited too long for maturity to knock at my impatient door
Counting people go by while I lie on an ice-cold floor
Tears and smiles don’t visit me more often
Cry for help tries to escape the quicksand of thoughts
But sinks deeper with every move it makes
I see myself shackled in ties that I cannot overcome in this life
I plead every day from a throbbing heart
If once this fetter would feel like caressing palm.

~Ink Phantom