Evil is a word I would call myself,
many evil thoughts I have on my shelf.
Disturbed is the sleep my mind has had,
lay beside it and you will find I'm mad.
Torment surrounds the idea of who I be,
internal bars hostage who is truly me.
Control of thoughts stuck in its noose,
the nuts, bolts, and the wheels are loose.
All this hides behind my staring eyes,
towards my vision is filled with lies.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 16th, 2025 14:37
- Comment from author about the poem: brain talked to the mind and sent this out.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
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