An Untitled Poem Written Out of Childish Frustration

Sharp, angry scratches in the ground

Mark a field within asunder

Harshly turned away from what I sought for

Pursued down empty corridors

My broken dreams

Beneath my feet the ground is bright

Garish with the blood of spilled hopes

Dark with remembrances

Wanting to be denied

To be a dream, a wandering thought

Unwholesome but untrue

Chicken scratches in the soil

They show my words’ veracity

There’s nothing but pain to look around

These cracked walls enclose

My truly broken dreams

My prison, yet sanctuary all the same

I don’t know what is, without this

Constant shattering around me

I don’t believe I’d trust or believe

Any hopes that tempt my sights

And so I blindly, recklessly fly

My feet dragging the future’s sand

Towards a nonexistent end

Somewhere in this barren maze

That is my scrambled psyche

The only place I belong

As any who see would know

Because liars can’t abide here

Lies don’t stick to mistrust

Appeasement to stubborn malcontent

These spaces in walls

Meandering corridors

They are unrest, insatiable

Unusable wrath and panic

Formed, lying words are no use here

Overlain or washed away

By a repulsive truth, these marks

Forever cut into the earth


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