why can't they see themselves?
they have beautiful souls and minds;
equipped with courage to speak upon ideas that no other would touch.
it is for them to be the actors and creators of their own creed;
splitting their heads,
keeping us fed,
unable to make their beds.
yet they come back.
but they're alone-
outlining their fate,
upon hills of pressure filled with mad-
suspended by ridicule,
founded miniscule,
it's all there.
they themselves are scattered within tired fiction of rampant contradiction.
yet they come back-
with their mastered bodies are entertaining the crowd.
their words shedding themselves effortlessly through their own shroud,
burning their world.
their pieces of honest dear flesh
consumed by an audience,
a cursed audience-
oblivious to what they've given, written, and spoken.
oh, that true heroism...
all to be alone.
please, I beg you...
refuse to be blind,
unfold what they have told.
YOU ARE READING
collection of poems and short stories
PoetryPoems and short stories that I've written throughout my study of literature and writing. Hopefully you'll be able to see the progression of my craft. References to literature and artist are spread throughout the prose.
