I'm built from every mistake I ever made,
walking through this storm called Life,
where lightning cracks about my head,
and I tiptoe on the edge of a knife.
A misplaced step, a stumble,
could be my undoing,
unravelling my carefully wound persona,
the facade of my choosing.
Each word, each sentence,
each move, every movement,
calculated with mathematical precision,
to show I am not broken.
Putting up this wall,
bricks and mortar,
something real and defined,
which can almost be immortal.
These magic pills,
they numb and soothe,
leave me with nothing to give,
yet nothing to lose.
- Author: Thedarkside (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: April 6th, 2018 04:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
- Users favorite of this poem: sylviasearcher, marlenawood
Comments1
Well written
Thanks
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