In shadows cast, a life confined,
Upon a stage where fate's unkind,
A house of tiles, mosaic cold,
But some, untouched, in corners old.
I've never walked on those few tiles,
Denied their touch by unseen trials,
A floor of discord, whims decide,
Which steps to take, where dreams collide.
To school's doorstep, I'd cautiously tread,
Attendance dangled by threads of dread,
A puppet danced to anger's tune,
In solitude, beneath the moon.
A friend's embrace, a fleeting chance,
Held captive by another's stance,
In moody tempests, connections wane,
A soul adrift, a heart in pain.
Alone, I play, but the strings remain,
This illusion is a cruel game,
A ragdoll in life's sadistic scheme,
Torn between despair and dreams.
A puppeteer's hands, those invisible strings,
Dictate my life, the sorrow it brings,
No grasp, no voice, no will to sway,
In the shadowed realm, I'm led astray.
The canvas of life, a murky hue,
Painted with misery and shades of blue,
A life confined, a heart suppressed,
By another's mood, I'm possessed.
Depression's cape wraps close and tight,
Loneliness reigns in the darkest night,
A prisoner of fractured mind, it seems,
Lost in a world of shattered dreams.
This is a toast to break free from my cruel fate,
To rise above, to re-create,
A life anew, where I hold the reins,
And break the cycle of endless pains.
But 'til that day, I'll bear this weight,
In the depths of darkness, I'll navigate,
With fragile strength, I'll strive to cope,
In a world where I've lost all sense of hope.
YOU ARE READING
Reaper In The Dusk.
Poetry| Compilation of poems about depression｜ I present you the wounds that never showed on me which are deeper than anything that bleeds. This is my only chance to escape free a penalty for my deeds. My head is a very dark place. Which needs to be cared...
