The Hostage

The Wires, Like Roots

That’s what they said I would be,
In bondage,
By the powers that be,
Living inside,
A head; where the thoughts leak,
Come right inside,

Let me show you fresh meat,

Its daunting,
The thought of thinking at all,
A fleck of doubt oh so small,

Distinguishing linguistic hate,
Manipulate or set me straight,
My head grows weary from the chase,
So delicate,
So cold,

An appetite for whats in sight,
Has led me through,
Path found my life,

As gravity pulls left and right,
The vision’s horror froze,

Incompetent a human,
The ego has grown
The wheel of whats real,
Moving past right and wrong,

Adjacent patient,
And mired in statements,
The passions conflicts with demeanor so vacant,

Maybe if you,
All could see through,
My eyes but once,
Then you would too,
Feel the scorn,
Forever more,
My cynical rhythm

My underscore

The thing I hate…

View original post 121 more words

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Literary Collective

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