One would think
that as tattered and ripped as
my soul is,
the stress would just drip from me and be gone.
One would think that
as broken and damaged as I am
this vessel would hold nothing.
One would think
the icy wind of depression would
just blow through me with an eerie howl.
What part of me is sound enough to hold
anything?
and why, oh why does it cling to me with such tenacity
while the light bounces off of me and warms
everyone around me.
There isn't enough of me to cast a shadow
how is it the darkness can always find a place to hide in me?
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