How they dance and they weep,
For once, they,
once, they would have made me cross the world,
to keep The girl,
the womanly speaker
in my life.
Instead of leading me along this asphalt road,
to a loud death filled with little strife.
But I was spurned,
and so I’d settle, with a woman greater than
A girl, within who’s arms my doubts,
my fears, my nightmares flee,
A princess, who saved me from the dark
of my subconscious’ mine,
And slew the beast which stopped my healing,
through time. The trouble that was,
I cannot forget myself before her,
Sometimes, they resurface, these harpies of my fear, I,
whether, or not,
it is fair, That I hide my true self,
the very ‘who I am’,
from my peers Instead opening myself,
to the woman who saved me,
From the depression,
depraved, the writer keeps buried within he.
Is it fair that I,
keeps a cowl across his head?
Or that my eyes,
are carefully kept blank, kept dead, From any threatening view,
or sympathetic glance,
Which may pierce, like a once jagged lance,
This false fortification, from within, for which I have toiled
to erect around me,
And through its gaping hole,
the black sin of my flesh,
As a platitude,
and nothing more.