Eaten Alive
Impressive in your eyes I seem,
but more Impressive yet are you
who believe in my life so vague,
filtered to exclude the truth.
My anxious fingers produce
what I hope pleases you.
I try to keep myself alive, but
by this Beast I am consumed.
In the belly of the Beast I lie
with my fears, my tears,
my life:
the keloid Scar across my arm,
the Drugs I quit to come so far,
the Psych Ward in which I was forced to stay,
and lay and pray until I found the Lord.
The Beast only bares its 4.0,
the Trophies that you admire like gold,
the Meals that feed its appetite,
for your sight, your approval,
your likes.
Poetry Slam: