What's it like to feel?
What's it like to love?
Why are the faces of the cryptic ones dripped with love?
Why are the fates of the cynical ones trapped with lust?
Who are the matchmakers?
Who are the mediators?
The lonely wolf looks on, the pride of the faces of the drunken ones spite with contempt and revolt with fragile need to bark or troll every person in sight.
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Jaded Reality
PoetrySome Realities are hidden safely in cages far away from the guilt of being judged at, from being gawked at, to form a veil to hide beneath in order to look as humanly happy as possible. To hoard down dark secrets, ultimately sulking in a murk so da...
