Past the lines!

So!

How many times should we remain victims?

Lost between the lines of one true self

Or reman a societal puppet on a shoe string.

Should we call ourselves free?

Or ringing a bell of admission

As all our steps are a mission 

Unquantifiable with reality.

Soaked deep in denial

While playing victims cards

To our own undoing

Yearn to equate ourselves to another.

While clearly different to one another ...

Back Again

Tell me again, where I am from

For I find the swamps homely

But scary to admit.

And hear the footsteps time louder

But a stranger, in the corridor of hope

As the footsteps always go in reverse.

Morose filled

Days progress's enmity

Digress grins

At the helm of a pleated beautiful nightmare.

So! I dare you to tell me again

& see the wrath of the sun

Slumping life

In front.