Selfish, a centerer of my own dismay,
Cruel, a cheater in life's game I play.
Haunted, a finder of shadows in my soul,
All I cared for, now shattered, taking its toll.
Sold my soul at thirteen, then at fourteen,
Who cares about my age, this dark routine?
Was it worth the screams that never found voice,
A wannabe seeking meaning, but lost by choice.
Smug smiles, lies like polished gems they gleam,
Party crasher, the outsider in the dream.
Cashing in on others' emotions like gold,
Was this the reason my innocence was sold?
Sold to the devil in the throes of young despair,
At thirteen, fourteen, did I even dare?
Drowning in last summer's rain, dazy and drained,
Counting days till six feet under, where I'm restrained.
I tried, I really did, gave my all,
But darkness held me in its thrall.
Sold myself at fourteen, a walking corpse,
In hell's embrace, my head takes its course.
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BTW, I came up with this in the shower
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Not Your Typical Literary Masterpiece: AKA My Mood
PoesíaMost people couldn't care less about the description, they're too busy getting lured in by flashy covers. And let's face it, my cover ain't gonna win any beauty contests anytime soon. Here's to hoping that there are still readers out there who value...
