We search for an answer
To who is in our minds
But the things we search for
We never seem to find
Spinning round in circles
Praying for an end
To be lit up in neon
Just around the bend
But for those who reach the end
Are they truly appeased?
Or is the end a trial
That blows apart your knees?
Like a vacant memory
Of when the games are dealt
And you are stripped from everything
And have to face yourself
Your ugly mind, your filthy soul
Things you never thought you had
All because this cracking skin
Was covering the bad
But when your blackened bones emerge
Tied with fraying nerves
And vessels pump poisoned blood
Right to where it hurts
The pain is unbearable
And has no final end
It is the punishment for living
The punishment for death
Because the truth of perfection
And "living big and well"
Is the world's cruel reaction:
We are the ones who make our Hells
YOU ARE READING
In My Head
PoésieA collection of my poetry. there is no rhyme or reason between them, they are simply there because i wrote them and needed a place for them to go. i know, my grammar sucks. also, there will be updates whenever i write more poetry.
