i question more constantly what drives people to become so wrapped up in the concept of perfection, an ideology that may not always carry a brave face in to every awkward conversation silently waiting to be propositioned in order to politely refuse.

i have thoughts but my head is empty

i have affection to bistow, yet the space on bed forever remains empty

promises made now, from shells of immaturity,  meet only cold phrases and eyes, glassy, an empty

shame, and regret followed by the suppression of silent, self, hatred

critical laughs and  grim opinions shared with empty souls in their gaunt silhouettes, lifeless crumbs catch around my feet as i stand, murmuring in prayers and hopes…..

i wait, and wait, for nothing, waste one last smile ,  as stray tears break false illusions

only emptiness is left to consul, the trade of agony


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