There exists no beauty in having nowhere to hide,
The harsh heavenly light of epistemic judgement,
Stinging my eyes – burning my lips,
No concealed fate nor subdued tempers rising.
No dust from which the ashes may fall,
Fuelling a wave of self-reverential pity; above all else,
Capturing the souls delight in a tortuous moment of honesty,
Knowing all but the secrets of an open soul.
Lies portrayed and psychological certainty – the mask of illusion,
Deluding all truth beyond recognizable form,
As all may, yet none do, consider the depths,
Of a heart sordid within the grasp of a nightmares reality –
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of the Anonymous
PoetryThe poetry of the anonymous who suffer through depression in silence; perpetually trapped within a purgatory of painful paradoxes.
