Was it my own will...?
an incomparable thrill...?
sending me straight unto one devils' illusionist skills?
Days wore enchanted masks shield,
nights conformed pleasantries to unimaginative shrills;
Held mine head high,
sure, enough to continue those sizeable lies,
brace this bleakness underneath own masqueraded cries,
stupidity of lonely fears kept mine within nightmare ride –
Who would believe,
a kid with a questionable history,
against age and honoree?
Slept unwell as weeks lingered on,
slowly walls scribbled 'here is not where you belong;'
Nothing could be this horrible on mine own,
gather what knowledge is to be taught,
this body displays no life bought.
YOU ARE READING
Between an Antidote & a Dreary Phase
PoetryMy second Edition of a variety of Poetry feelings. For all the support and encouragements you all share with me - I do humbly appreciate all that you say and do. The feeling I get when another writer comments, or votes is imperial to how I interr...
