Feeling: deranged
Something goes wrong
I stare you in the face
You don't like to go away
Though you often hide
Shackles and freedom
Together, and tense
My muscles become when
I let you loose
Feel the burn, smile
And laugh at the pain
That you bring, then
Regret it later...
Helplessness, my enemy
In haste I often choose
You to help, but then
I often lose myself.
Am I worth keeping,
A line of losses?
Though when bowing my head
I never give in.
Should I let you
Into me further?
Perhaps my losses
Were for my weakness...
Is it a triumph
To put you away,
Or yet again
More foolery?
Your poetry always make think Brittany, and this one is no different. The weakness is not you, the weakness is thinking that it is you.
-Jess