Stacked one atop another, beating in time. Waiting in a queue to be sent into the wild.
Love is a rarity, most times disguised as lusts which fades too quickly over time.
Warehouse hearts, sounding like thousands of drums, out of rhythm, out of sync…
Warehouse chests filled with bluster and deceit. Manufactured in solitude, souls should be unique yet they strive to conform, to be accepted, creating a false version of themselves which will fail each time.
Abuse is limited and love is fleeting, just as wounds will heal yet always leave a scar as a reminder of personal survival.
Warehouse tears, falling from warehouse eyes in colors, brown, blue and green. The tears are clear as water, regardless of the color.
Just some thoughts with came to mind while listening to, “Sad eyed lady of the lowlands.”