"My"

My heart is black My soul is a misinterpreted canvas, A misplaced Art piece. My mind paints through the tremendous ocean that drowned every ink of sketch that poetry has embodied to save the posture of my soul in me. Every thought floats out from its internal creators sketchbook Every vulnerable part of myself has me questioning the passion that has led me this far. I'm in between the walls I'm scratching from the absolute end of fate. Disrupted and wreckened Discipline and patience, Needed like a torch lightening up through the hallway of perplexing visions. I see myself as a villain tarnishing every heroic aspect I come across. POLLUTED WITH SELF-HATE! 'Self-introspection' :" I'm meditating for reassurance" I'm being ripped off an image of silence Do I speak through Word's or colour's of violence Encrypted cosmic energies virtually transporting common hearts to a Damaged Paradise. Paradise that was once home for lost souls. I'm hardly trying to live for happiness I've found mine whenever I'm jotting down on pages, the blueprint of uneven art. The rough texture of a dried portrait is the definement of my emotional gratitude. I'm broken And I don't need to fixed I'm lost And I don't need to be found I'm a slave And I don't need to be freed I'm who I am now And I'm not willing to change because of sympathy nor maturity. Everything I am plays a role in making me find peace from within.