I'm the keeper of a thousand faces
The places I've been to, the pages I've seen
Turned green as they age, taken by decay
Like the stage where the story of my life is played
The curtains rearranged, the instruments before me
Covered in dust, the metal rusted
Lost my trust in storytellers years ago
When I lost myself in fantasy shelves
And forgot to bring myself home
Pluck the strings, play a chord or two
I can't afford an orchestra, but I poured
My heart and soul into the notes
Let them sweep me away in my own story
They implore me to fall deeper
Than ever before, keep wanting for more
A thunder roars across the stage
A flood I can't restrain, the dam is breaking
The pain escapes through the notes I erase
The tears on my face, dripping down
Onto the pages, trying not to drown
Maestro for the ages, keeper of a thousand faces
Play my music in a thousand forgotten places
The basis for an entirely new way this could play out
Every day the stage falls into deeper disarray
Praying for somebody who could clean the dust away
Somebody the stories trust, someone who can see the glory
Before me, who will know me and hold me when I say I'm sorry
For stalling and calling too much, the songs in my head
Are stuck there, can't compare to the symphony
In my heart when you say you'll sin for me
Beautiful agony and torturous art for a story they told me
They all try to mold me, won't hold me, they scold me
I'm broken, try to be bold, see, but I'm
Lowkey slower on the uptake than they want me to be
Disgusting, I'm rushing to play the right note
See how high it can go, make it stay, play it
Used to be a god, now I'm dying behind this façade
I'm leaning toward a new way to play
A storyteller's game that's worth the wait, pause, replay
Rewind, there's no way I managed to find
Someone kind, someone with as quick a mind as mine
Someone who doesn't make me want to hide
Beautiful pride, I've relied on weathered seams
And kite-high dreams to keep me on track
Swan-dive into a black hole, backtrack
Will this act, unseen attack from within, retract
Put me back and make me whole, or will I just go
Into an oblivion of unknown, lost my home
For real this time, can't take it back, I'm scared this time
My orchestra's gone, I crossed the line
My symphony's gone, god, how do I turn back time?
YOU ARE READING
Inkblood Poetry
PoetryPoetry is the most efficient way for me to express things, even when I can't define it in a way that makes sense. And I think that's the beautiful thing about it - that poetry doesn't even need to be defined. It just exists.
