a series of self created poems, monologues and other text for the interested reader.
Monday, September 20, 2010
PUSH
sincerity is hard to come by, with piercing lies that sting worse than third degree burns; i still stay cool. my mind retracts severely with strange thoughts that were long gone or so thought to be. i have prayed for a better tomorrow and have got it but i feel a force come over me i can not ignore. "spite me O' mighty spite-r" your sick twisted games navigating through my mind and i once again feel the definition of isolation; he stares me down and laughs in my face as i curl into my corner again. finally here comes an angel that arrives upon my shoulder and picks up my collar and i float along with it, it is now where i view the arms of warmth and then i can be convinced once more that i am not alone, that i am not a light feather being driven by the wind, i am not one to be put away momentarily while you go gallivanting. the mind is what spites me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment