They’re back.
Returning like the sun
To the horizon by morning,
A genuine gold crown
In place of a shadowy
Silver mask; equally as
Blinding as the yellow sky,
But covering a face
Concealed by lies
And grand performances.
A sickness of sadness
Overwritten by a new
Plague of shining smiles
And voluntary sleeplessness,
Symptoms evocative of the lost
Thoughts rematerializing within
The great oceans of my mind.
An already accepted fate
In bold prophetic writing,
Burned pages at a time and
Rewritten in a language
Of crystalline passion.
My will has returned.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
They’re back.
Returning like the sun
To the horizon by morning,
A genuine gold crown
In place of a shadowy
Silver mask; equally as
Blinding as the yellow sky,
But covering a face
Concealed by lies
And grand performances.
A sickness of sadness
Overwritten by a new
Plague of shining smiles
And voluntary sleeplessness,
Symptoms evocative of the lost
Thoughts rematerializing within
The great oceans of my mind.
An already accepted fate
In bold prophetic writing,
Burned pages at a time and
Rewritten in a language
Of crystalline passion.
My will has returned.
