I look back on myself
And don't understand who I've become.
A writer falling behind
With only a ghost to push words from my mind.
Risen past the greif,
Forgiven all the lies,
Let my anger out,
But I'm still trapped inside.
Never before believed,
Of a being unseen.
But it's presence is apart of me,
And I have no wish to let it leave.
Circles and circles I've run,
Cant put a question to the answer,
Call it confusion,
I call it love.
Sick of being sick,
Sick of no one understanding,
Sick of breathing death,
So its the cure I'm demanding.
Author notes
If you cant understand this poem, dont feel bad- i dont either really.
all i know is i wrote down these lines and its like the poem gave me an answer at the end.
that wasnt even what i was trying to write when i sat down with a pen and paper lol.
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