Poetry Awards - Competitor (The Attys)

I’ve given up that minute crest of hope
Slowly receding as each night passes by
Encountering the darkest hollows of the human heart
Thrown to the ground by expressions
With jaded tips, sharpened for the kill
To shred the pieces of my existence
Into taboo
I won’t speak another word
Have my defiance lash against the cracked walls
Of a prison cell with the acrid scent of home
Suffocated by the devious laughter
Of a monster wallowing in manipulation
Ready to blow her fiery red breath
Scathing my faintly darkened skin
Watching the guards bow down to her glory
As if she were a God
Not seeing past her cunning lies
Not seeing another girl
Not seeing me
Praise her!
That mighty beast!
With your own deceptions
And lexis of hate!
No matter what my accomplishments,
They’re always shadowed by her failures