Childhood dreams turned to dust,
everything I aspired to be; no more.
All turning out to be a bust,
trying to find meaning from the core.
Only to come across a wall,
confusing, and irritating I try to circle around,
and before I knew it I began to fall,
desperately clawing at empty air as I race towards the ground.
All alone in my mind
leaves too much room for perfect torture.
These feelings all pay in kind,
a sickness with no cure.
Waiting for the fantastic day,
in which i overcome,
twisting, churning clouds of gray
and shine as bright as the sun.
© Copyright 2016 TheMoonAndHerStar. All rights reserved.
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