The Real Me


I stand there weeping
Over the corpse of a man,
A man who no one knew,
Nor did they understand

A man I know, whose blood
Stains my hands
And sends me down a path
To an unknown land

He was the one
Whom I found myself in
But was scared to be,
Once the crowd came in

A man who spoke as he saw,
As he felt, who dread
To come out of the realm
That my disguise shed

I stand there weeping
Over what I see,
That overcome by shame,
I had killed the real me.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem