I'm stuck in limbo,
Every day I feel older
Each word that I write,
Seems to come out a little colder
But tonight I feel - so goddamn surreal
Like distracted prey,
About to become a meal,
While I stay still, half asleep,
My life is up for the steal
But what comes out when nothing matters
Is the only thing that's real.
Author notes
This is just a piece, I was way too tired to finish it last night, let me know what you think anyways.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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O.O
too tired to finish!? it's flawless.
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Excellent
A rather unique write, with which I tend to agree. I think our real personalities come out when we are simply caught off guard; sleepy, or drunk, etc.
We humans are a strange group, we tend to wear psychological masks too much of the time. Almost if we are afraid to reveal too much of ourselves.
Very well written, indeed.
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The nighthours can have such a strange way with the mind, and I'm familiar with this feeling myself. I can easily relate to this poem...though it's not a frequent emotion for me anymore...it comes and goes as a stranger in the shadows. Great writing.
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