I am not here, I am there; a fly swarming masses
Time can control me, destroy me, yet not one second passes
I am a bipolar fascist; a mercenary by order
I climb ladders to feel tall but forever seem smaller
I am the smoke from the embers; the cloud among flames
I extinguish but do not burn; a forgettable worn name
I am a drone in training; a puppet upon strings
I despise the corrupt pilot; the consumer of lost wings
I am a product, a promotion; a prosecutor of slavery
I lack the confidence, the ambition, the discipline to seek bravery
I am a coffee-induced coma victim; so limited and flaccid
I speak only when I can speak; through the frogs over acid
I am a suit seeking solitude, away from my own mind
A self-loathing washout; a pretentious loser confined
I am too quiet to whisper, yet too loud to scream
I am the limbo of the afterlife, the requiem of a dream
I am the embodiment of a slave; so frail and so worn
I seek guidance and freedom; a lighthouse beyond storms
I am alone and I am afraid, most forgettable at least
I am expendable, I am prey; a lamb sucked in sickle teeth
I am here, I am there, but only for a while
Pour me another cup and I’ll sit, I’ll stay; and I’ll die in exile
About the Creator
Jord Tury
Just a regular guy living in the West Midlands, UK.
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