dark — dirty, little secret;
the truth will always cricket;
chains keep me grounded;
but the truth has now resounded.
kept me in a bucket;
years have gone, you wish to pocket;
now I'm nothing but the wind;
let the kracken do its thing.
but see, you can't keep me;
the bucket can't conceal and see;
the aftermath of bad karma;
sly as your own damned charisma.
you can never conceal the truth;
for the ghosts all bear fruit;
in a graveyard are buried skeletons;
and one by your closet, hidden like a tendon.
— Anastacia
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ANASTACIA
PoetryA compilation of poems about love, reality and distorted fantasy. Thoughts to words - Touch to feelings - Sight to memories - All I can offer to you in writing. - Anastacia Cover belongs to its rightful owners.
