The demons that reside on the tops of aching shoulders,
Wait patiently to whisper nothing's in the ears of the colder.
Who feed them with constant egotistical problems,
From a person who had broken one too many times to show them,
Though they have risen from the bitter past,
They feel empty as echoing shadows overcast.
It is because of the demons that swallow charisma without fathom,
And tick-tock-tick-tock goes the passing, panning pendulum.
That ever floats past each corner over and over again in repetition;
However there is nowhere to hide from the internal aching condition,
That causes those to go back and forth with nowhere to turn,
And around them flickering Hell fires that melt their souls with meaningless burns.
Believe the spark that still ignites creativity and imagination,
Because that is where the demons cannot speak their eternal damnation.
Feel and speak of the freedom that one can possess,
Instead of being the one allowing the demons to oppress.
With that, rip apart the bitterness that tears at the heart,
Heal the damage with whatever remedies and create a new start.
Nobody else can do that so remain independent and strong,
For the demons hide in places that one considers wrong.
+Willie-Wright (a.k.a Allie)
YOU ARE READING
My Life Is A Circus
PoetryWelcome to the circus, behind this curtain is the exploration through the thoughts of a girl's mind by passing through heartbreak, happiness, depression, and all misunderstandings that apply to everyone who has questions and curiosities.
