He looks out of the glass house,
Glass House he calls his heart,
The very heart pumping toxin,
The very heart overdosed on life,
Life it once held dear,
Despondent.
He looks out of the glass house,
Glass House confiding his soul,
Or rather trapping it,
The very soul,
Once radiant as tulips on a sunny field,
As it fails to shake this uncanny ennui,
So dull and empty.
Cracking.
His looks out of the glass house,
Beyond the smoke and intoxication,
Glass House he called his mind,
Mind once bright with ideas,
Sabotaged now,
Grey were the colours it once saw,
Oh the rainbow was a myth,
Myth in drowning despair and sorrow.
He looks out of the glass house,
As he sees a crooked tree,
A rope of monstrosities,
A rope clenched on it's dry branch,
The tree drained,
Drained as his very being.
He looks out of the glass house,
As he sees himself,
Himself hung on the very tree,
Oh the noose was suffocating,
Suffocating till it lasted,
Drowned were the voices.
The glass house shattered finally,
Liberating.
~ Sapphirus
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts of a Loner.
PoetryPoetry written by yet another individual just existing throughout as any other being like any of you, experiencing life and suffocating thoughts.
