The Gothic Poetry

Unfree

If my hair was on fire,

With my dreams and desires.

I would leave it where it is,

And let my crown burn out.

For I have no royalty,

They don't give me respect.

Since judges turned into critics,

While my body becomes their mannequin.

Let my limbs be torn apart,

For they let me crawl in their dirt.

Let my skin be melted,

For they mold me into their grizzly work.

They say that we deserve freedom,

An act of expression.

But why do they tune us out?

And leave us with voiceless depression.

I do not believe in happiness,

I do not believe in light.

I only believe in betrayal,

For they said what they did was right.

And if my time is coming near,

It'll never be my greatest fear.

For I would take the bloody knife,

Since the demons held the key to my life.