And I'm scared of the idea of 'tomorrow', for I see no change, I see no parallel outlooks, I see no jaded realities, I see no... I see nothing.
Everything feels stranded and dead and on a standstill...
Chasing nothing,
Feeling nothing,
Healing nothing.
And the more I try to seek out the good in the evil, the soaring rains from above show me the path to more heartbreaks and sorrows...
Everything feels tried and tested and on a hold...
Chain of thoughts,
Cane of wonders,
Cast of tomorrows.
And the more I try to dig deep to cultivate my thoughts and secure my heart, the reckoning of just one more blow shows me the path to more seclusion and destruction...
Everything feels beautiful and twilight and on a pedestal...
Seeking love,
Craving acceptance,
Losing faith,
And the more I try to understand the fatal blues, the soaring spirits tell me to stay out and believe in the untimely virtues.
Maybe the one above sees something profound to keep my feet dragging and my knees scraping the dead remarks and maybe I can make it and maybe I need to be tossed around to find my path to something more beautiful and profound...
But,
Maybe I am just tired...
Maybe I am just tired being the only option that gets tossed around....
Maybe I need to disappear and never come back...
Can I escape?
YOU ARE READING
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...
