Thoughts Of His Own Making

“No words to express,

no substance to digest,

no opinion to contest,

no view from you to ingest…

I sit dormant in the morn.

 

Not a single thing to say

about this season or this day,

not even a suggestion coming from your way

is regarded as okay…

I’d rather sit and sulk in scorn

 

Pity myself, I will.

It’s become such a valuable skill.

Little joy, little thrill.

Magic distractions. Magic pill.

Magical fairytales I weave at will…

I hate this world in all its form.

 

Carry me away from this hell

that you made when you cast your spell!

I can’t believe you, you made me dwell

on that pain you knew so well…”

 

 

‘He never realized that he chose his storm.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

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