By: p.a. LEX
I was once lost in the idea of the fabricated rapture which everyone creates once happiness gets lost in wretched souls and broken trust. It's an illusion that we all mistake to be warmth, peace and-even possibly-love. It's the sea that's drowning us-heavier the bearings on our shoulder seems-yet we think we're floating into a seraphic abyss. We force ourselves into deception to be able to somehow have control in our own emotions; but didn't expect for it to manipulate us instead. We've indulged ourselves too much to the lie that we have fooled ourselves, and made it our mistaken truth. He was my lie. An addiction that came too close to my own demise. Loving him was kissing fate; unknown when it'll stab me in the back. Nights lost to the thought of him; tears that kept pooling on the bed sheets have caused me to be immersed in despondency.
YOU ARE READING
Pages of Despondence
PoetryA batch of poetries and short stories for the broken. You may portray it in any way you want. Most of my works are for the abused, scorned and rejected.
