I hate it when I forget that I am Queen.
When my bejeweled crown that sits above my eyes feels like a burden on my head.
When my vision becomes cloudy from the smoke around me.
Smoke from so many dreams & hopes & promises.
I ignore the singing of my royal robe and try to steady my walk in the wrong direction.
and two steps from hell's dor I close my eyes againist the sting andI smell my burning flesh.
My crown began to melt into my skull, kicking the power switch on.
"Queen. Come back!"
How does this poem makes you feel? Pity? Frustration? Determination?
Comments
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Not bad. Clean it up. "the sting andl smell..."
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