Dolls lined up in neat rows of ten,
each equally afraid of lies, pain and disappointment
Drawn with aching smiles and soulless eyes:
cages are imprinted with redundant words to spark interest
A new era of egocentrically selfless dolls pollute the aisle
while the rest are left to decay into the dust they rose from
And as damaged beauty is glorified,
hearts are lost to the physical eye:
Money, magnified, manic
Absent, apathetic, abandoned
Grated, generic, glorified
Empty, effortless, edited
the end of each relationship is the beginning of every insecurity…
My perspective is An abomination,
a true litigation of Karma At work.
and as i await Zion,
I am a prisoner of Wild illusions temporarily Eradicated by reality.
Starved by Artistic aspirations,
my Sanity is Held in contempt
And abused to create literature.
Nonchalant in nature,
Yet Intrigued by the ideals of society:
i am Numbly aware of the Grotesque Whims of the Allotted minority.
I am. Makaziwe. Sasha. Nyingwa.
I feel as though I have lost myself:
a shell living on automatic.
As I walk through everyday life,
I am confined by a mere glass:
experiencing but not feeling.
My prison becomes smaller and smaller,
but as I suffocate I ask for no help.
I depend on me.
The bars burn lines on my skin.
The oxygen thickens until I can’t breathe.
My vision blurs.
I gracefully fall into darkness…
I only depend on me.