This artificial bliss is a game of Russian roulette--
The winner is always unclear.
It's placed a cloud inside my mind,
Obscuring thoughts that once were dear.
These feelings don't belong to me.
I'm a hostage inside my own head.
The cloud will allegedly keep me alive,
But isn't trapped as good as dead?
I'd rather fight all on my own
Than become a pawn for the machine.
Sadly, I think that it is too late
Since the cloud has wiped me clean.
It's my fault for being gullible--
Believing more chains could set me free.
Soon individuality will disappear,
And the cloud will be all you can see.
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In Darknesss
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry I have written on darker subjects such as suicide, death, self harm, etc. If this may be triggering to you, proceed with caution. Some of these were written in my stay at a mental institution where I was allowed a comp...
