It's a game of truths,
I lose it with lies.
I convince myself every day
That there's no other way I can try
To live this life to the fullest,
Without engaging rejection,
I just feel so useless,
So I dispise any kind of affection.
My flowers are roses,
Burnt into the ground,
I cannot clear the way like Moses,
I cannot even hear my own sound.
But it must be revolting,
It must be a curse,
In happiness jolting
When I can prove it's not a farce.
The only liar I truly know
Is me myself standing in God's land,
I burn myself in snow
Cause I believe myself to be made of sand.
I am the mark of six,
The sooner forgotten, the better.
I believed in that all my life,
Now I can put it away,
I will escape the throne of lies
That I bestowed upon myself on every day.
Escaped,
Reborn,
I know.
I finally know.
YOU ARE READING
Spiral Lights: Into the Unknown
Poetry"The healthy dead had once walked alive, only to turn a lifetime into a year. Fitting insanity into a needed tide and loom at its great love to fear. So remember the day, remember the night, Flowing, but lifeless, yet bright. Walking beside you, un...
