Enemy
she may be quick to react,
but there is something that she lacks,
although its something that I misinterpret,
she always wins the next day,
like somehow she has a force,
inside of her soul,
why am I decieved,
hence a psyche,
it tends to spike,
all night and day,
there is no say,
this is no other way,
is it me,
what would someone else see,
the mind itself is an illusion ,
and I absorb the fusion of thoughts,
it becomes something that I fought,
my own body is perpetual,
as if it were terrestial, a depiction of mirrors,
it lasts forever,
its something to keep as moreover
an escape from reality
adventure of a life
a spirtiual essense of gritification,
an escape from reality, the strength of magic I create,
could make me accomplish anything, as a person with ocd,
I expireience magical thoughts,
it becomes unrealistic to the point that I go into another dimension,
its very powerful I can't help it, it can't stop,
I swear its not my wit,
👁 4💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.