Truer words are oft thought, not spoken
I will not muse myself on a portrait,
A false face to wear like a shadowed mask,
I forfeit myself on my reflection,
That one I find so oft inside my flask,
I shalt not be one with mine own portrait,
That hated face I wish would burn in hell,
I find myself wishing to lay dormant,
I’m running from the self I know so well,
A portrait’s lies are painted easily,
A false face lies just beyond detection,
I do hate that face almost needlessly,
But as I stare into my reflection,
I must admit that this face That I know I do hate,
This face I hate I know I do wear quite well.
A false face to wear like a shadowed mask,
I forfeit myself on my reflection,
That one I find so oft inside my flask,
I shalt not be one with mine own portrait,
That hated face I wish would burn in hell,
I find myself wishing to lay dormant,
I’m running from the self I know so well,
A portrait’s lies are painted easily,
A false face lies just beyond detection,
I do hate that face almost needlessly,
But as I stare into my reflection,
I must admit that this face That I know I do hate,
This face I hate I know I do wear quite well.
This Poems Story
A contemplation of how one might drown their sorrows in alcohol when they hate themselves more than anything.
Public Collections Containing This Poem
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Truer words are oft thought, not spoken
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Dark and Light, Of Your Life
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