Veil

Old poem, concerning self hate and achievement.

Squalor and swallow your pride,

besides the shuffle of your stubborn glaze,

stand stunned and dazed by proposition,

all it was, was a decision!

 

Can you make it on your own?

start in the squalor and move up from the cellar of discontent-

self loathing has lent you nothing-

yet you indulge in his games as he plays you the fool,

and under his breath he tells you the rules-

of wich you obey-

each passing day-

moveing neither left, nor right,

only peering in to that mirror that reflcts you,

as your percieive yourself as ugly!

 

Now render your self useless,

not a talent to give-

not a word to say-

but still you play self loathing's game,

stubbornly vain, you're going insane-

now you've missed the last train out of that pain!

 

Now move only to rotate,

and only to dictate-

you- yourselr-absorbed,

into a world that tells you wots pretty,

shows you the good life that makes you're life seem s****y-

 

But makes you want, makes you scheme,

makes you strugle for that hopeless dream,

makes you blind, blind to see what it is you really want to be.

No never you're self, only what others want you to be,

No never the truth,

only a plastic sugar coated veil of chocolat thats gone stale,

Run your own life be true and never fail!

 

Never fail?