Pushed to the breaking point
So I can no longer pretend
That the stasis is what
it once was
I desire my self-image to
be that of a dove
Pure when left untouched
A martyr when maimed
and mangled
I've been off the rails for
a millennium
Even though I must admit
that there were never any
to begin with
I have walked countless steps
And a trail of sorrow follows
me
Because I never address
my misery
I never address my true
feelings
For fate and I never seem to agree
For time is dodgy and never
agreeable
For the future begs the
same question that I
have yet to answer
Why?
-K
YOU ARE READING
Melancholy Dreams
PoetryMy poetry is an extension of myself. Every time I write, I stain the page with portions of my thoughts and emotions. Pieces of my former self lie in the stanzas. What is left is the current version of myself. This is my story, more or less.
