Delicate, dull and happy,
The one and only.. me.
Oddly empty,
Hypnotised by the facade but not the beauty.
I am frowning but content,
I am calm with pure quiescence.
Stance at tranquility and ethereal,
I decorate my walls with monotonous illusions.
Does that make sense?
The nuisance in my head,
Screaming faintly,
To surmise it would be easy,
To infer I'm not crazy,
That no word misdoubt me.
I fought my way
To sleep through my nights,
With the heavy sighs,
And tiresome cries..
YOU ARE READING
Beautiful Rage
PoetryWelcome to my world of Poetry; I'm pouring my feelings & thoughts to form an emotion. Perfection is not an adjective but a synonym to a visual perceptions.
