I always had an answer, an excuse with no shame,
Perhaps that is why my dreams plague to this day.
I try and keep control,
But it runs away from underneath of me,
Whilst I do my best to hide the damage done,
As good people give me the benefit of the doubt.
- But I can tell they're fast running out of patience.
Increasingly I twist under this cloud of my creation,
In it's shadow of frustration and disappointment,
Cast over myself and those who stand so close.
What a bad dream that has woken me so early,
Reflective of my life's past, my character, my journey.
Thankfully for words I can print down my soul,
And be able to etch out my mind's eye in some vain hope of relief,
Like so many of the thousands who also crave to share,
And appease their creative desire for strength and inner peace.
I'm so tired.
© Copyright 2016 Bolt Thrower. All rights reserved.
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