deepundergroundpoetry.com
Swoon
I spend my life living a lie. I pretend to be happy. Fake it til you make it. The sentence stuck in action. Repeating
I count on my hand the people know of my worst struggles. These are my burdens carried. The weight of worlds.
My past is so dark even the reaper stops to swoon over the details of such horrors. These are what nightmares are made of.
I count on my hand the people know of my worst struggles. These are my burdens carried. The weight of worlds.
My past is so dark even the reaper stops to swoon over the details of such horrors. These are what nightmares are made of.
Published 23rd Aug 2020
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