I fix my smile and compromise,The ghosts that haunt behind blind eyes,
For someone my friends could recognise,
And not soul that they despise,
A painted face is sly disguise,
For twisted morals behind which lies,
A deeper urge to be unwise,
To fill lungs so no breath resides,
And drown the old me 'til it dies,
A shell that has a face like mine,
But nothing me on the inside.
To become new, I realise,
The old version must first demise.
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An Assortment Of Words
PoetryObserve these syllables I have arranged in no particular order and pretend to feel some sort of way. Featured story, highest rank #2 in poetry All rights reserved © #Wattys2016