Escape My Reality
My bleeding heart
craves
a solution
that
doesn't
exist.
Flying elephants,
Dancing piglets.
IMAGINATION,
pouring out my mind,
cashing on to paper
with passion.
Cannot be caged up,
Cannot becontrolled,
for it manifested on its own.
Poetry,
is not the poem.
Poems,
are not the words,
But,
the descriptions of my inner being.
My twisted,
unknown monster,
that hides,
deep inside
the abyss
within my body.
Without writng,
I become dust
Again.
Dirt between the cracks.
Alone.
and
Afraid.
I cannot express,
who I may be.
For who I am,
is undefined,
unloved,
and
poorly written.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world