Why am I in this world?
What purpose do I serve?
Am I being punished?
Because life isn't something I deserve?
Why try to do good
When the bad is rewarded?
Losing every battle
Making my vision distorted
The lives we lead
Aren't what we follow
The cold hard truth
Is a bitter pill to swallow
I try to shape myself
To fit into your mold
But the crevices are wrong
And erase my soul
I don't know who you want
I don't know the version to be
The one you know me as
Or should I be me?
I try to disguise myself
To hide the loser before you
Faking every smile
Waiting for it all to be through
About the Creator
Introducing Poetry
My name is Sierra. Writing is a type of therapy that allows me to express myself or the world around me in ways one-on-one conversations cannot. I hope you enjoy my works!
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Joyride
*** Content Warning: Although humorous, this is a ghost story. Contains descriptions of after-death experiences. The aged leather of the barely-padded seat felt welcoming and familiar, or at least it would have, if he had any feeling in his spectral buttocks. Phil sighed, or would have, if anything existed in his translucent chest to hold the air it would require. The memories of his senses would have to suffice. His cold, unfeeling hands curled lovingly around the cracked bakelite rim of the narrow steering wheel.
By Dana Crandell3 days ago in Horror
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