On my wrists lies the proof of defeat Short in age lies length in pain At which end do both ends meet What heart is whole, what mind in saine Four walls to bury all my pride Four rusted brown jail cell walls Trap me a criminal with no place to hide Execution awaits, the underworld calls My door is gaurded by angels of hate No teaspassers by, no angels of good All is done, my love, all come too late All did what they knew, all did what they could I, a cat, of grace and pure will Locked up and unwanted in a cage Left out because of their guilt to kill Thrown out in the cold in the heat of their rage I am an outcast to only the blind Who see without knowing and know what they hold Cut them open, see what you find as once again i am left in the cold In my room all is quiet No one can see in, no one can see me This is the trueth, you can't deny it this is how it's ment to be Now on my wrists I repeat defeat Short in age lies length in pain When will my tired heart retreat What misfortunes will remain In my room the plot then thickens Someone comes to my gaurded door In confusion my heart beat quikens No good comes here anymore Here I am, a lion in a cage A creation of power with none at hand They only come for me to play the stage And to whip me while I'm on the stand I'm a pupet made of string and wood No voice to speak, no mind of thought They use me to appear like good They teach me what I should not be taught In this room, this true jail cell I write to waste my life away To tell others what I should not tell To clear the cloads of gray On my wrists lies the proof of defeat Short in age lies langth in pain At this end does both ends meet No heart is whole, no mind is saine
Reason for writing:
The feeling behind this poem is too deep and long to express right at this moment cause i have to go but feel free to E-mail me if you want to know the reason.
Birth sign: Pisces
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Mistina Whitlock.