There is one, untamed, twisted part,
In the shadow of my soul,
That isn't thankful,
That I have the ability of sound and sight.
Deep inside where untapped whispers lie,
I truly believe,
Life would be simpler,
If I didn't see,
The person behind the sneer and the bite.
I want to tape my lids against my skull,
Plug up the ears,
And stop the sound,
Of cutting curses with pressured words.
Even if I drew the blinds down against the world,
Locked up the doors,
Baricaded the windows,
My skin is still weak,
Susceptible to the raw scratches of society.
For no matter wether I retreat,
And hold my heart in hand,
The world is far more cruel,
Than I ever could have planned.
YOU ARE READING
Shadows
PoetryLife is constantly weighed down by its past. Every breath, every action, leaves an imprint of the world. The question is wether our memories will bring shadows upon our path, or will we ever simply stand in the sunlight?
