Me? Who am I?
Who can I possibly be?
Who can I be when everything else seems so easy,
Everything else besides being me
That girl whom I've been,
Her soul left with her pride.
Her soul left with a series of unfortunate events,
and her soul left with a smile,
her soul was mad-hatter twisted and was her soul a lie?
Her soul seems to still be here but I'd rather deny.
Was it a soul?
Cliché to refer to a dark hole.
Cliché to relate to something as irregular as the dead end to all hope.
My fingers seem numb.
This no longer feels like art.
Feels like I'm unconsciously welcoming others,
into something so dark.
a.c.
YOU ARE READING
aRt
Poetryhi, i am here in more ways than one. i am here as me and no one else. i am here to write and express. enjoy.
