Manic

By
More by this author
I am the manic.
Spit on me,
Slap me,
With those words
or with those hands.
On whom shall i rely?
I am the foreigner
Disabled spirit
I have little left;
Disarm me.
The renounced black sheep.
My discourse unheard,
to you,
A clamor of words
I leave you now.
Never seen.
Never heard.
Nevermore.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback