I like to tell myself I am fine. That I am not as cuckoo as I feel sometimes That I don't quake with every breath, Shrivel up from a word,. That the world doesn't end as I wake and I am not afraid-. Plagued by musings of what may be at stake. My smile is unofficial you know, branded but uncertified. It's a signature valuable only in imitation But not by any legit means of identification. I am a death away from desertion. Till my essence, proof of existence. Is stripped from the living world-. My graves are strewn around in numbers to cocoon my every fall. Six feet under beneath trodden feet Where the world will be unburdened by the sheer nuisance of my defeat. The shadows shrunken from the light-. They tell me to stay. Everytime whatever is the use;. Creeping to a war you cannot bear to endure. Pursuing a strain of perceverence that requires a valour you cannot concieve. So sit still and in position. Stay frozen and look forgotten,. The world won't bother you then. For you are not a mere whisp of a cloud,. Not a flicker of a breath-. Because you are naught,. Little girl-. Nothing to them.
You're a gifted writer, Myre, with a poet's ear. The "smile" figure was particularly nice. Thanks for posting! 😺
Thanks, means a lot. This is one of my real personal poems, you can guess why.