The loss of me, a triumph you savor,
In the ruins of my demise, you find favor.
Your deceit, a vile cloak you wear,
A calculated game, a twisted affair.
As I plummet, you relish the descent,
A puppet master in this vile torment.
Your rise is built on the ruins of my demise,
A testament to your heart wrapped in lies.
In the heart of your falsehoods, I suffocate,
A sacrifice made to fabricate.
In the symphony of your hollow victory,
Being a poor copy will be your legacy.
......................
"I stopped looking at life like a competition. We were all born winners..."
BINABASA MO ANG
The Writer and Her Daydreams
PoetryA prose and poetry collection where dreams transform into something real.
