OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN
I can still hear the whispers,
I can still feel the stares.
The stench of madness fills the air
with every breath comes despair.
Haven't rested but wide awake—
hostility overpowers normalcy.
Anticipating every stroke of the pen
to unfold the spine-chilling end.
Free me, help me escape!
Break the chains and take me to a place
where there's no one around
or make me feel I'm safe and sound.
YOU ARE READING
PSYCHE'S TEARS
PoetryA collection of self-written poetry about the writer's experiences with heartbreak before The Muse's Pages.
