The Turn Against

By Illusions

Lines and figures
But don’t ask me to explain
Those fragmented efforts I paint
Self worth I’m trying to exchange

By illusions of self control
I’m further losing any hold
More the cold and distance grows until
I’m nothing of my soul

The lock I was given looks disturbingly old
A transformation sick and slow
As scorpion smothers eagle
In frozen depths of sorrow

I love my isolation…
The safety of my unhappiness
Mindlessly present, I feel unreal
And I am seen as so much less


Almost finished with everything. A few days ago I wasn’t well, and I brought myself back to something I’ve been a way from. It’s up in the air now. No one is watching and I have not and will not say a word.


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Filed under Art, poems

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