In a life with endless pages
I always seem to be lost in mazes.
A ripped out page that I don't want to remember,
And if I do, I can't seem to control my temper.
I'm afraid of being the same as my creators,
Yet I am afraid I will be much more worse
I know I'm a fighter,
But what if I am unable to break the curse?
What exactly am I? What do I stand for?
Because I feel like a glove.
They see me for my wrath,
I wish I could get rid of everything in just a bath.
I believe I am a puzzle that refuses to be solved,
Because they could see the lines that are carved.
A tragically beautiful work of art,
But also replaceable.
I wish to be a painting,
That even if I am smeared with filth,
They'll worship me like a myth.
A book that is finally annotated.
Maybe that way they'd see me through the naked eye,
And I'll know who am I.
- aanijian
YOU ARE READING
Sentient (Scars)
AcakThis is not a story. It's about what I experience, perceives, and observe. Grievances that cannot be expressed all the wounds caused, are all here and read, not just about myself but for others as well.
