Social Commentary and Mental health Poetry, written by the broken.
I am...
Uneasily minted by a press of oppression and a desire for the divine, Embossed with an unwanted faith distorted purpose, Scratched the designated internal cognitive design away to resurface, A scoundrel promising to pursue a crooked path to revive my own derelict of empathy conscience!
In lieu of,
Reformatting
I am...
But a killjoy...
The less hoped for,
The less I should suffer,
Denial is a remedy,
Never awake,
And yet... I
Weep.
From everything,
I am at anxious war, Hiding a facade of wilting aspirations... But a lonely apathetic smile drowning itself in battle with tears never contempt of self acceptance by another shed...
In lieu of,
My tears... not hope,
Keeping me here,
It's... nothing,
And no one;
I am prey,
A villain,
Death.
No hope,
Nothing of faith to be had, A plague upon the wishful hope thinking of every and all the stars, Villain shrouded in clouds of darkness be my name, A poet who attempted and cried out for aimlessly more, Yet abandoned by any warmth through life empowered by the sinking prejudice ship called home.
In lieu of,
Kissing the fire.
Hell I... Hath,
Come!
An echo,
Into the void...
With conscious sedation,
Hope crawled back into the dark,
Standing in the line of life,
Bitterly awaiting an end,
Death is the grave,
There is but,
Lethargy.
In lieu...
An earnest anticipation,
Of playing pretend; half dead,
Dull your hope and senses,
To be half of somewhat...
Even quasi accepted!
No one ever said,
Or told me,
I'd have,
To be...
Play pretend,
To be loved...
In lieu of...
Playing half dead,
To be somewhat...
Quasi accepted!
No one ever,
Said...
To...
Me!
