Brevity, Quill

Sleep

PART 1

When the growing pains of your melancholic heart ring as loud as the holy bells, I tell you to sleep.
When your psychologist contacts me about how you relapsed again, I tell you to sleep.
When your beautiful mind does nothing but disintegrate, I tell you to sleep.
When your bloodshot eyes are blinded by red, I tell you to lay down and close those eyes that once saw the world not as what it was but what it could be.
I tell you to rest your tired mouth that no longer sings of brave women.
I tell you to sleep because it’s the only way you’d drown your sorrows, it’s the only way you’d dream of unimaginable happiness again.

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