Locked up—
Inside this prison of doubt,
Trying—
To find the way out,
Choked voice—
Howling so loud,
With blurry eyes—
Would truth be plowed?
Inside my head—
Is an aesthetic of you,
Razes like glass—
In a count of two,
Loathing myself—
For this skepticism,
Slowly being swallowed—
By this cynicism,
Clinking sound—
Of dubiety and distrust,
Tickling in my ears—
Invoking disgust,
How can I break free—
Of this uncertainty?
So I will be able to go back—
To those times that I admire thee.
