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|A poem about a mind that is led by the faery of self burial.||
My time is truly faery led and wanders in between
My heart is buried in a place never to be seen
Theres darkness clouding over me, Im lost in being gone
For being me is tiring, but being there is wrong
It makes me think I’m less than me, yet makes me feel like god
It makes me spin a thousand tales and my own life is a fraud
It estranges me from those I love and leads me down a path
Where bitter weeds are strangling me, every time they ask
It makes me such a hypocrite, and shows me all my vice
Lust is not an entity that cares to think things twice
My mind is like a forest, with twisted gothic trees
The shrine is in the centre and Im begging on my knees
My feelings are an enemy and intellect my grace
I use the doctrines sparingly, to condemn or save my face
There are poems I cannot look at because I wrote them here
And when Ive pushed these feelings back I hide from them in fear
|Onward *||His Fire*|
|Writer's Block *||Muse|
|Walls of Sparkling Amethyst *||Spindle Red|