When I was young, my mother would tell to keep your head high.
Resisting to listen, my mind congresses to speak of conscious, without a doubt.
One after another, blinded by greed.
The horns that grew on my head, I may like the remedy.
But, how do I speak when the mongrel glares heavily.
YOU ARE READING
ᴅᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ᴏɴᴇ sᴇʟғ。
Puisi'A glance into my imagination' @lividbruisespoetry ❌Do not claim as your own❌
