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Thomas Liardon Poem
My only enemy left is myself
No one to displace the spring of hate
If he stood across and challenged me
I would surely fight
I would combat with reckless abandon
And thoroughly push to win
I think I will
Every night, though, it is only the mirror
It is only myself that suffers the combat
The combat springing from hate
It is simply innate
I berate myself verbally, sometimes physically
whenever my feelings of hate are too intense
But I only hate myself. I only hate myself, never anyone else.
Am I narcissist?
I don't think so. I think I'm just lonely.
Maybe though
Copyright © THOMAS LIARDON | Year Posted 2024
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Details |
Thomas Liardon Poem
Trapped in my space suit
Tied down to the launching pad
Terrorized by the rocket
Paralyzed to the surface
The cold surface of my skin
Basks in the judgmental sun
Strapped in my race boot
A dyed gown around my chest
A hard place and a rock, it
Seems I stand in perturbance
Fervidness of my kin
Tasks my legs to jump the gun
My chest strains as my legs race
My heart aches at my minds race
"When I win I'll pen the pin"
But I'd only lose to win a when
Internal torment. Eternal Dormant.
In turn I'll forfeit to eternal internal scornment
Copyright © THOMAS LIARDON | Year Posted 2024
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