Downtrodden -

Tread on me,

You walk on my memories,

But I don’t feel a thing,

And I can’t

All these voices in my head,

They have no occupants.

A constant reminder that maybe it’s all I’ll have.

But when it’s said and done,

We’re overrun by those thoughts and remnants that we all keep inside,

We all keep inside of us.

And heaven,

If you hear me,

Can I sell my soul, for streets of gold?

I know I’m not ready to go.

We coincide, with what’s inside,

To keep at bay, all those lies.

I can feel my heart, is slipping,

Out of my chest.

And heaven,

If you hear me,

Can I sell my soul, for streets of gold?

I know I’m not ready to go.

I can’t feel the sun,

On my skin.

I’m downtrodden,

Beaten,

Worn thin.