beingyoung · poetry · Random

Tumultuous

My brain is a canvas,
Ripped and shredded,
And splattered with ink,

My heart: a chandelier,
Shattered, my light dims.

I am  a broken record,
A scratched painting,

I used to be so sure,
Now just a lost wild thing,

We are all said to have wings, yet no one wants to fly,
We can swim oceans, but no one wants to drown,

Unable to understand ourselves,

Deaf to the beauty of our birdsong,
Blind to the beauty of our reflections

Staring back at us each day,
Stuck in a mirror,

Glued to our bodies,

We obsess and obsess,
See things that aren’t there,
Conjure up demons and faults,

Yet we ignore the perfections,
We really shouldn’t care,

Once we are gone, and our souls taken,

What is left?

Our names engraved on stone.

I am a broken record,
A scratched painting,

My brain is a canvas,
Hanging in a desolate gallery,

Watching you all.

 

 

 

 

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3 thoughts on “Tumultuous

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