Here's a poem i just wrote...
My soul dies to the fabricated screens of an alternate fantasy
I am captured & tortured, disfigured until i forget reality
Life blooms in an opaque prison for my mind
And in this place i am held captive until i am lost & blind
Dreams that play out in an eternal abyss of deception
Scrapping at the walls of hope for attention
Black fingernails clutching desperately for life
Fed by the endless stream of youth, innocence & depression...
My soul dies to the fabricated screens of an alternate fantasy
I am captured & tortured, disfigured until i forget reality
Life blooms in an opaque prison for my mind
And in this place i am held captive until i am lost & blind
Dreams that play out in an eternal abyss of deception
Scrapping at the walls of hope for attention
Black fingernails clutching desperately for life
Fed by the endless stream of youth, innocence & depression...
2 comments:
Imagine what a starving kid in Africa would think of your poems of pain ???
the pain i was describing in the poem is the illusion that the hyper-real film industry depicts for everyday people...
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