Paint a picture

Paint a picture perfect

Make sure all these hours are worth it

Don’t cure it

Exploit what has been given

Travel the path that was hidden

Behind the endless nights

The mental strife of insecurities

Weighing down on me

Like soaked clothes

That never quite fit honestly

And this is quite possibly

The last thing I can ever say

About the battles waged in life;

it wasn’t worth it

That the hidden path had a sign pointed to it

That my secret garden was outlined in a magazine

Does that sound right?

That my imperfections are broadcasted

And I’m re-casted to extra number three

I am second to second

Who is the first one to lose

But yet I choose

To walk on a path I know will lead me

To nowhere I haven’t been before

That this dark soil

Taints my forest like an electric eel

Squirming it’s way into every crevice

Of my mind

So, apologies are in order

I verged on a tangent

Away from your orders and brought you this

A thing that doesn’t quite make sense

Because life’s complexities are far too dense

Like the water we tread

And the life we’ve led

That the fact that it means nothing

Re Fabricates and spreads.


So, sorry

I can’t fit a life of burning

Onto a piece of paper

That won’t even remember me.

This poem is about: 


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