November 10th, 2021
If somebody asked me the question that my dad has the answer to, I couldn't match his words. I have never claimed that I have a selfless bone in my body. The marrow is full to the brim with selfish tendencies. The hero he plays the part of, well, I might as well be playing his villain. My intentions are only mine to keep, and if you've ever held them or think you have-you haven't. Anything I've given to you is all my own creation. Any thought you have of me I built the night before. Any idea you can pick apart in my head, or any feeling you think you can see through my body-it's all planted. It's all a show. It's all for a purpose. It's all to keep the girl that I made standing tall. It's all to seem selfless. When really the bones in my body crave, and crave, and crave. They get what they want. They slip under the radar. They manipulate. I am the one who is bad, aren't I? I am the one who is bad.
R.K.
YOU ARE READING
Holeheart
ПоэзияI am the forgiver. I am the destroyer. I'm not at fault, but I deserve to be. Poetry and Prose Volume V 2021 DISCONTINUED
