Illusions.

I wear faces, each hiding my truth
the truth I’ll die with, haunting graves around.
There are illusions I’ve crossed
I stand there, chilled.
My body cuffed in chains.
I am lost one, in the crowd
looking for my pieces, in the bones walking
around.
Why would they look and smile at me?
I am only a cloud of gloom
raining showers on my own sky cleansing my
flesh, erupting the madness I live with
Hear me, I still cry at night
Scream my heart, to the dead silver ring there
It doesn’t lament with me, any long
Only sometimes, it turns to half colourful smile
when sky cries with me in daylight.

Sidra

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