Search This Blog

Wednesday, August 24, 2011


I hide in this guise that is not me
Consumed in shame
I will never be free, from the thing that is me
The horror I feel from the reflection
It isn't my soul, my Self
Yet it is horrible
More sick than a prison for decaying bodies
This body is a prison for a decaying soul
If I close my eyes I'll never awaken
I hear the words that have been spoken
But this spirit within his already broken
A winged thing, a great one once
Fallen, from my own hatred of self
Cannot contemplate another day
Surviving this way
Unloved, untouched
I will cry hollow tears tonight
Until mother's pills set me free
Into spirit that is pure.

No comments:

Post a Comment