I stand by the mirror, staring at myself,
seeing only the blemishes and not much else.
Behind my eyes shadows loom tall,
The figures dancing, watching me fall.
A corrupted soul inside of me,
It's the only way I know how to be.
A maddened look, an angry glare -
This is what I see as I stare.
A weird little boy, he doesn't matter much.
At life's few joys he willl clutch.
But these joys are far between
And all the while he begins to lean.
Soon he will bend over too far,
Bend and break, adding to the scars.
There'll be nothing left that he can do,
Only one way out and nothing to lose.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|LBK (126.96.36.199) -- Friday, March 11 2005, 11:49 pm|
You are not weird...You won't listen to me though :P...Not about you not being weird anyway...
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