Intrusive
the sick images of my mind
have twisted my perception of reality.
perhaps i will never wed, never sleep.
become a being of dusty pages
and tired sighs,
feeble like a withered tree.
perhaps i will forget beauty.
see suicide
in subway stations
and broken childhood
in a pair of safety scissors.
perhaps, if i let them win.
but i have always been stubborn.
Copyright © Zachariah Rodgers | Year Posted 2016
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