The wounds still seep, staining who I am. Wrapped tightly in smiles and ambition, the wounds still seep…The wounds have become my identity, my shackles, my noose. When I turn a cheek and believe I can run free, the wounds snatch my throat and choke
The wounds still seep, staining who I am. Wrapped tightly in smiles and ambition, the wounds still seep…The wounds have become my identity, my shackles, my noose. When I turn a cheek and believe I can run free, the wounds snatch my throat and choke
The wounds still seep, staining who I am. Wrapped tightly in smiles and ambition, the wounds still seep…The wounds have become my identity, my shackles, my noose. When I turn a cheek and believe I can run free, the wounds snatch my throat and choke
The wounds still seep, staining who I am. Wrapped tightly in smiles and ambition, the wounds still seep…The wounds have become my identity, my shackles, my noose. When I turn a cheek and believe I can run free, the wounds snatch my throat and choke
The wounds still seep, staining who I am. Wrapped tightly in smiles and ambition, the wounds still seep…The wounds have become my identity, my shackles, my noose. When I turn a cheek and believe I can run free, the wounds snatch my throat and choke
