teary truth of reality
The thorns and scars,
Are supposed to make who you are,
But my reflection stands tall only in the broken glass,
Yet it feels unreal through the shiny brass,
A pathless soul is let led to wander through the field of the black locusts,
Piercing and pushed alone through the eerie tufts,
An empty vessel screams not in foolishness but in pain,
Trying not to be alone, but efforts are in vain,
The venomous tongue , so called the reality,
Rips you apart with everlasting clarity,
The twisted adventurous mind feels hollow to the systematic strain,
Feeling strangled in the practical chain,
A sly master puts the ones below to test,
But are we supposed to handle the rest?
A chance for voice, feels robust,
But the opportunity starts to rust,
A hope so close to our grasp,
But it slips away despite our clasp,
A void, encircles you to substitute the piercing grief,
Hope starts to feel like disbelief,
A moment too happy feels scary to lose,
As the treasured moment starts to choose,
Between the short-lived joy and everlasting pain,
But fear creeps in, when things go back to plain,
A void so dark that it hides what you fear most,
That you feel like the stuck in it like its ghost.
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