He sits alone in his room,
only to survive the day.
The lonesome moon,
an object to compare the feeling.
In the open public,
the outcast walks alone.
His facade unscathed,
the pain lingers inside.
With a fallen silence,
he makes an approach.
With sudden action,
he turns away.
Lost the nerve,
returned to comfort.
This habitual cycle,
will soon be defeated.
YOU ARE READING
Poems.
PoetryThis is just a collection of some poems that I have written. Feel free to like or comment your thoughts.
