Inner Turmoilous Thoughts

Rise and sing to me my demons. Scream out the songs of anguish that long to be somewhere other than within my head. Bash yours the truest minds against the sepulchers that entomb you and rise. Done waiting and sitting silently praying, the time has come for wailing, or more the steady screaming of that domineering and deviously wrought song. This song of not just life but it's meaning, not just of flight but of the gleaming eye of the dreamer dreaming as he flies just too high, and then, plummets. All truths have failed and all lies have prevailed, so what doth that make of those who now wail at the lies they have been spoon fed. The world crumbles and breaks around every being and all that I can conjure into being is some fantastical manifest of my sorrows as the aggressor to said burdens. Scream and let me be free of these, cry and let my burdens die with the pitch wailing of the deceived knowing when he is so. And wail for yourselves and your counterparts my demons, for you can no longer wound me from inside what I call my own.

This poem is about: 
Me

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