August 26, 2009
Patches cover my scares.

Emotions sealed like jars.

Different pieces sewn together.

So high, lighter than a feather.
Within I am not that tough.

My actions are never enough.

I’m not real...

No one can hear me squeal...

Insides are made of cotton.

Dejected and forgotten.

Ribbon keeping me from falling apart.

A mere possession of material art.

My smile is made of tainted thread.

In life I am not living, I’m dead.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback