Why Do I Live Like This
Why do I live like this?
Reckless but not free,
In a torment of melancholy,
Words seep through me..
Coming into reality in form of poetry.
But that's not all there's to it,
I hope there is more life to be yet,
Discovered and possessed by one being,
For is it but me truly living?
I yearn for an answer that's true to this.
Self actualization is simply an empty word to me,
What does it actually mean,
I know not, for this is all I have for me
A broken piece of heartfelt memory,
It leaves not a trace, is just a passing phase.
Pouring out thoughts on an empty page,
Looking for a title befitting its name;
I look on but I cannot engage,
In a conversation of reality within myself,
For I am but a broken piece of heartfelt memory.
So tell me why I carry on to live like this?
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