To believe liberation of mine soul,
Is bestow upon thine appearance,
Is a lowly deceit to my heart,
Which is setting it higher than stardust.
These deluded hopes of my mind,
Are the monstrous results of lustrous desires,
To prevail thee to stop from crossing these parallel lines,
Is to let thee know the depth of this inner turmoil.
It'll be enough to set thee in ashes,
Even if it'd be me who'll burn,
Yet there's no reason to have faith,
To submit the souls of mine to thine presence.
Cause thee already hath burnt the cadaver of thine soul,
For the lady who hath had the pieces of thee.
What a tragedy,
How selfish of thee to not want to liberate the cadaver's hand,
While holding the hand of another living being.
Just thine inner turmoil leaves those hands crimson every little while.
Yet how selfish of me to want to live that dream,
Knowing reality is just a threshold of some fearsome human.
YOU ARE READING
The Mad People's Dorm
Poetry"Mad People's Dorm" is a heartfelt collection of poetry that takes you deep into the emotions and thoughts of someone battling anxiety, betrayal, and inner turmoil. Each poem is a window into a mind that has faced darkness and is striving to find li...
