I'm not really happy with this one, but it is what it is.
-Z
If even the eyes,
In which I could find all emotion,
Have found their disguise,
And stopped feeding my teary ocean,
What do I have left?
If all of me is acting,
With not one part calling for help,
And there's no longer hope of escaping,
This torturous hell,
What do I have left?
If my eyes can't tell me,
What's going on inside,
Beyond this surface fantasy,
That allows it all to hide,
What do I have left?
What's left of the real girl,
Who is broken and scared?
If she can no longer be seen,
Behind this facade,
What's left of me?
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Believes Me
PoetryJust a book of random poetry, short stories, and whatever else I felt the need to write. Enjoy I guess :^) Completed.
