Melted Wings

I've seen souls that walk around lost

Yet they still hold a spec of reality mixed with their extraneous facade

Bullets don't have a name after its shot

A conscious gunned down from an inner plot is only left to rot

The heart pumps even after life stops

Some people die at 20 but not buried until 81

Melted down like Icarus's wings after flying to close to the sun

Burnt from the lifeless routines

Inner scrutiny killing the self relentlessly

– Nick The Writer

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