My feeble attempt,
at grabbing at reality,
Is shadowed by my lack of control,
My life is an illusion,
Petrified by the utmost empathy,
Layered, like a cake made of,
Hate,
Each level packed with fear,
Disgusted by the taste,
My body quakes,
Feverish paranoia keeping me awake,
The state of my being,
Dependent on my surroundings,
Well I am crowded with,
Lost chances,
The smell of fire,
Still in the air.
By: Robin L.A. Shaw
No comments:
Post a Comment