A self-proclaimed model of fame.
A cordial psychopath.
Curled up in elated paradises
Of his own creation,
Lashing, rolling against the shackles
That frame his malignant mind,
Wondering where truth and lie,
Embrace into one.
I'm resting against an imaginary past,
A refined version of who I was,
And who I will ever be,
Four years down reality,
And it seems like truth will never last,
Against the supple, seamless fabric,
Of my crippled identity.
Why do I imagine so much?
I feel like the harpstrings of my mind,
That, a few years back, so maternally,
Grasped the purest truth,
Now kick it around like a deserted pup,
And unspool the rage writhing pent-up,
Augmenting, all the dreary while,
A realm of fantasy.
Bleeding.
Screaming, my brutally broken brain,
Shies away each rising morn,
Away, far from the metallic fetters
Into a cage of dripping pretence;
A plethora of assumed innocence,
That persuades me to numb my pain
And swiftly retract all that's sane,
And stow it safely out of reach
Of the wary kiss of prudence.
I cast the line when I was born.
A fishnet of my emotions,
Out in the murky recesses of life;
My yes, my no, my crumbling woe,
In desperate prayer that I would catch,
More feeling than I had dispatched,
And use it to abate my beasts,
And live abreast of pulsing hope.
Alas, the truth now lies forgotten,
A singular young leaf in autumn,
And I've now pulled the line inside,
Disgracing the judges in my mind.
"That's all?" They ask. "A simple task
As finding emotions has failed?"
"Too bad. You've no choice save rely
On a wondrous, welcome masquerade.
Throw every piece of sanity
To the folds of this disturbing gale,
From now, we'll hold your thumb and point
To what's genuine and what's fake."
Severed from choice, I lose my voice
Betraying a silent nod,
And from then on, I ope my eyes
To a new truth every morn.
Family is but a distant friend
To drop a line when needy,
In every other crumb of life,
I spew lies passionately.
They all consume my listless tales
Concocted minutes ago,
It fills me with a welcome ache
And makes me drown my woe.
The fantasies bear me towards
A land of no empathy,
I draw farther and farther back
Against a world that disgusts me.
Even as I drag my pen right now
I'm fueled by hungry desire,
To drop this effort at explanation
And into my dreams retire.
My ego swells like scalding welts
On scorched and lonely skin,
I let go of my final sense
And live my days within.
Guess that's your only destiny
When life wrings out your heart,
A lack of deserving truth made me
A happy psychopath.
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Poetry[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
