Who am I at my purest self?

A peacock

Drawn in tattered feathers

Falling past the threshold

Shielded eyes and faces

Until no eyes are left to probe

 

A blank space - face -

Captive to lines

Of ink and life

Seeking refuge underneath

Well worn covers and crumpled sheets

 

A dream

Hunted and corrupted

By nightmares in sunlight

And demons by moons

Hidden behind tired lids

 

A hopeless prayer

Spiraled up through stars

Clutched like rosary beads

As tears run red

And run away

This poem is about: 
Me

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