He picks nights to be around like picking a card out of a hat. He demonstrates this illusion of what seems to be perfect.
His tricks just leaves me in a strap jacket, psychotic and suffocating in a case filled with water.
Like Houdini I tussle to plan an escape, only this time its my last act.
For me believing in him only made me the clown of this freak show.
Humiliated.
YOU ARE READING
Clandestine Volume 1
PoetryA mix of short stories, and a bundle of poetry written in my hours of insomniac nights. Dark and twisted maybe even inspirational.
