Stockholm
I cry the tears you use to buff your mask of pretend innocence
I’m in a room looking at everyone through the one way mirrorYou’re the only one who knows I’m here as you parade around in your polished disguiseEvery attempt I make trying to get them to see my side is worthless I consider escape but the labyrinth of instability outside the door is far worse than the pain of futility Foxgloves and fungi will fill my lungs as I choke out my self defense but your response is always the same. Lose the fucking attitude.
This poem is about:
Me
My family