Goth

The Poet's Curse

Some black and white tears on a page.
What a clumsy song,
But I'll cry for them.

Pour out my soul and tear open my heart.
Smear it on these pages.
Indulge in every miserable feeling.

A balancing act on the edge of insanity.

For that is the curse of the poet.
They can feel through me
And go back to their numb existence.

Burning myself alive as I search for some meaning.
I search mirrors and murals.
All I find are skewed reflections and someone else's heaven.
Nothing tangible.
Never definite.

I trip on that line I walk,
Falling hard into a downward spiral.
A drunken mistake and a fresh new scar.

A laugh of a martyr,
But truly something to be displayed.

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