This is Me.
The final part.
From one broken home,
to one broken heart.
Hidden behind the mask
of the old porcelain doll,
cracked and tortured.
I have seen it all.
Uncombed hair
and clothes that are rag,
Behold my feelings,
I am but sad.
No one would listen,
during my youth,
when I was a young man
or drinking my *****
The alleys were dark
with walls caving in.
Hearing voices inside me,
that's where it begins.
Sitting alone,
by one candle light,
I saw pen and paper,
blown by surprise.
I started to talk,
with the pen in my hand,
writing muse on the pulp,
trying my hand.
I was confused,
my words were a mess.
To me, there just jumbles,
I must confess.
I read them back,
and started to sigh,
Because this is my sad story,
It made me cry.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
This is Me.
The final part.
From one broken home,
to one broken heart.
Hidden behind the mask
of the old porcelain doll,
cracked and tortured.
I have seen it all.
Uncombed hair
and clothes that are rag,
Behold my feelings,
I am but sad.
No one would listen,
during my youth,
when I was a young man
or drinking my *****
The alleys were dark
with walls caving in.
Hearing voices inside me,
that's where it begins.
Sitting alone,
by one candle light,
I saw pen and paper,
blown by surprise.
I started to talk,
with the pen in my hand,
writing muse on the pulp,
trying my hand.
I was confused,
my words were a mess.
To me, there just jumbles,
I must confess.
I read them back,
and started to sigh,
Because this is my sad story,
It made me cry.
