I sit in my hole that I've dug.
An electric barrier keeps me in.
I watch as the people rejoice and love.
I stay,
curled up with tears dripping down my dry cheeks.
How torturous it is to be confined to this hole
While I sit and witness
Them.
YOU ARE READING
The brain is a machine
PoetryThe brain is a machine when fed creativity Let it paint us a picture
Outsider
I sit in my hole that I've dug.
An electric barrier keeps me in.
I watch as the people rejoice and love.
I stay,
curled up with tears dripping down my dry cheeks.
How torturous it is to be confined to this hole
While I sit and witness
Them.