Mystery surrounds the echoes of my mind
Words of forgotten prose I simply cannot find
A memory misplaced in this ever growing scenario
Of hopelessness
Sorrow and impulsively acting like a half demented child
Not able to advocate the needs and wants it expects from me
This is you in retrospect
An unfulfilled moment that spread into a lifetime
A woman so rigid she has no soul but for herself in that second
A listless pitiful attempt at loving someone like me
Whoever I might be
The one always excreted on from an enormous height
Spurned out like wasteful matter at the speed of light
From a heart so disassociated from what we once called a miracle
Yet in amongst the ruins, I’m the one who’s cynical?
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 10:12 AM UTC
Mystery surrounds the echoes of my mind
Words of forgotten prose I simply cannot find
A memory misplaced in this ever growing scenario
Of hopelessness
Sorrow and impulsively acting like a half demented child
Not able to advocate the needs and wants it expects from me
This is you in retrospect
An unfulfilled moment that spread into a lifetime
A woman so rigid she has no soul but for herself in that second
A listless pitiful attempt at loving someone like me
Whoever I might be
The one always excreted on from an enormous height
Spurned out like wasteful matter at the speed of light
From a heart so disassociated from what we once called a miracle
Yet in amongst the ruins, I’m the one who’s cynical?
Request permission to use this poem