In a lurid dwelling, we come to convene,
A place where others like me are seen.
Summons the docile with vile intent.
Etiquette is the feeling we all implement.
Positioning ourselves, side by side, but alone,
Adversity conquers, enslaving, to own
Self-medicate is an overkill to bear.
Escaping the concerns, the burden, and care.
Consistent uncertainty and psychological strife,
Caresses incessantly, haunting our life.
Disengaged from reality's fiery hell,
Symphonies are composed of demons that dwell.
Unique and sinister, they’re human remains.
Clouds of self-hate constructed from shame,
I watch the mist flow, slowly from my lips,
Inhale, puff, roll; away my life slips.
Spirit and teeth rot, decaying my soul,
Bound to this dwelling, is an eternal black hole.
About the Creator
Elisa Green
I have a deep passion for writing, and upon completing a poem or story, I experience an immense sense of satisfaction and fulfillment.
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Comments (1)
Wow, deep! Well written!