I need a purpose.
Everyone does.
It was you.
It was love.
But you were never you,
You were never who
You claimed to be.
You were never who I hoped you were.
I realize I never loved you.
I loved your wretched disguise,
Your wretched disguise of wicked lies,
That blinded me like dusk lights.
So now what's the purpose?
Not you. Not your disguise.
Then what?
Where is it?
I'm searching.
Perhaps I'll find.
Perhaps not.
Probably not.
Surely not.
I'm ending it here anyway.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Pain and Solitude
PoetryFor every person out there that was quiet, not because they chose to be so, but because they were choking in the smoke. Because their opinions were apparently not worth anything. Because they didn't know just how to say what they felt. For every per...
