Same old empty feeling

I don’t know
why you still look at me
like I am made of glass
like you could shatter everything
when you call me an ass.
Sure, I am shameless,
an isolationist
a loner.
My mind was never beauty,
my soul not gold
My heart not warming,
or caring
My character surely not bold
my wisdom not old,
or proven
coherent or consistent.
I am a crumbling wildcard
in a dissatisfying world.
I am hell
this is real, I am sure
and you have the audacity to talk to me,
because you think there is more buried underneath,
an uncorrupt beauty hidden behind
my hurtful words
or the decaying flesh of my rotting body.
Turn around.
There isn’t.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close