As the sun begins to lower,
and the clouds turn a shade yellower,
you fret the coming evening,
but the sky burns ever bluer;
Your torment, unveiled - a dread that never settles.
The birds' laments ever drifting to your windowsill,
though fading in their regards.
Your chamber takes on yet another shade of darkness.
And yet you continue to dwell, to linger,
despite the ever-intensifying panic that you know.
It writes like a storybook of old.
The neglect, the denial, the karma, the regrets.
You continue spinning this web, digging this pit.
And who does it deceive?
None but oneself.
It only benefits you so briefly before it crashes and burns.
You revile in your benefits, yet they are piled on with guilt.
You cry for mercy when you reap what was sowed.
You promise to break the cycle,
but that has become a staple of itself.
Life is ever fleeting, dear child.
The wind bears no lies and you have remarked this.
You bore into the earth and turn up naught but pain.
Let your mind become one with mine.
free-verse is really fun to write and it should be more accepted/praised