A face with two sides,
A bullet on the mirror,
But whose image is cognizant,
A mirage in my head,
The ghost-dance drums sounding,
My peace not restored,
An embellishment they say.
The ghosts in our head provoked,
In a dystopic state we are left,
The illusion created;
a blemishless creature,
Let it be laid,
and my peace restored.
YOU ARE READING
THE BOY ON THE BRIDGE.
PoesiaThe weakest ink harbors the strongest minds. A collection of thoughts that will blow your mind. Some emotions laced herein are quirky, any similarity to real characters is just a mere coincidence*
