A Perspective: Part One
Collection One: Stone Cold
A Perspective: Part One
There's sharpened smiles under false lies,
expressing truth inbetween the lines. You can't trust me because I hide behind closed blinds.
A
dark room in a shade of self-hate Clouding shoulders with weight.
My fate feels doomed as effort looms over my hazy eyes,
my
wandering mind.
I shut myself down, turned off with a complete physical mental block.
I can't move.
My body's glued sitting and spinning alone
on the couch.
I looked up,eyes beat and dragged, hair matted in a knot and with a glance at my hands...
I looked in the mirror drowning inside from the wreckage of
mental capacity.
The effort it takes to push through the loss of breath,
the
complete lack of oxygen keeping my lungs alive.
There's this excruciating painclogging my throat as I gargle lies to mask insecurity,
to hide behind
narcissism, and self-deserving whims and words.
Somewhere in my body,
deep in my
mind,
I know the misfiring cells are profound compared to my attempts at
self-medication and hopeful thinking.
I feel like I'm shedding at times,
fractured, cracked, and warped,
stenching with the horror of rotting humility.
The avoidable,
a nomad of social construct,
spreads resting as opinions across
the faces of acquaintances.
Surrounded by disapproval, tones blurring
rejection.
My soul suffers,
tortured, and dying
from the sight of
my
reflection.
A Perspective: Part One
There's sharpened smiles under false lies,
expressing truth inbetween the lines.
You can't trust me because
I hide behind closed blinds.
A
dark room in a shade of self-hate
Clouding shoulders with weight.
My fate feels doomed as effort looms over my hazy eyes,
my
wandering mind.
I shut myself down, turned off
with a complete physical mental block.
I can't move.
My body's glued
sitting and spinning
alone
on the couch.
I looked up,
eyes beat and dragged,
hair matted in a knot
and with a glance at my hands...
I looked in the mirror drowning inside
from the wreckage of
mental capacity.
The effort it takes to
push through the loss of breath,
the
complete lack of oxygen
keeping my lungs alive.
There's this excruciating pain
clogging my throat as I gargle
lies to mask insecurity,
to hide behind
narcissism,
and self-deserving whims and words.
Somewhere in my body,
deep in my
mind,
I know the misfiring cells are profound compared to my attempts at
self-medication and hopeful thinking.
I feel like I'm shedding at times,
fractured, cracked, and warped,
stenching with the horror of rotting humility.
The avoidable,
a nomad of social construct,
spreads resting as opinions across
the faces of acquaintances.
Surrounded by disapproval,
tones blurring
rejection.
My soul suffers,
tortured, and dying
from the sight of
my
reflection.