I may just be slipping,
Into the realms of delusion,
A clock similar to this one,
But winded up differently.
For when the hand strikes twelve,
Dysphoria takes over me,
And all I'm capable of then,
Is to Lament
My face becomes cold,
And dew starts gathering on my cheeks,
Though my dreams may be sweet,
I resist my beckoning sleep
I need to cut this rope,
I need to free myself,
I need to find my way
Out the labyrinth.
YOU ARE READING
Sunshine and rainbows
PoetryThe title is ironic. Please don't read this expecting ponies. I don't know how to describe this, i think it's better left undescribed They're mostly derived from my nihilistic thoughts I tried not to be pretentious. I don't know if i succeeded. Go...
