Vague
A desolate disposition
Remarkably remote
A silent, nagging tension
A prickle in my throat
A heavy hearted sorrow
Debilitating weights
A fear for each tomorrow
The trials that may await
Isolated troubles
Breed in solitude
Keeping safe, my bubble
Has become the thing I do
No one will ever know me
I’m acting all the time
It sure gets awful lonely
Beneath these lies of mine
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2018
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