Troubled confessions,
Under the bright blue sun,
Holy and unholy,
It's all the same to me.
A deranged shadow,
I've seen Him at last.
Not an endless maze of hollow promises,
Just a being of flesh.
Morbid times,
And a half parched soul,
A search for nothingness,
Drifting through love and pain.
The voices in my head,
Screeched and clawed away the reason,
But still there persists,
A cancerous will to be.
Show me some pity,
Tell me you understand,
While I throw you to the rabid mongrels,
For letting me be myself.
The wretched, servile hound,
Roams across the damned square,
With a hurricane and a mirror,
As he looks but still can't find.
Just as I was turning the mirror,
For a brief epoch I did find,
Him, a yawning Huxley baby,
Curled, into a rabid hound.
YOU ARE READING
The Aden Grey Poetry Contest
PoetrySo Aden, for those who didn't know him, loved poetry. He was the one to get me into it. The first poem I ever wrote was for him, about him. This is something I meant to do a while ago but I kept avoiding painful memories. This is a poetry contest of...
