In a blink I rise with a gasp,
Can no longer fight the cooling of reality's grasp,
The nameless face that I held so dear,
Is drifting and begins to disappear,
Like a memory that had never been,
I had lost myself within the scene,
In a play written by the fraudster that is my mind,
I yearn for the face that I will never find.
YOU ARE READING
Soft Curses of Angels - Volume 3 - Vaudevillian
PuisiThe "journey to middle age" part of my chronological anthology of bad poetry. Estimated age at time of writing 24-28. I both thank and apologise to any soul who takes the time to read these.
