These Marks

The marks, they fade away over time,
My emotions, masked. I’m an excellent mime.
My increasing intent for the short lived pain,
Bring bittersweet feelings. It’s all a game.
You’re the cat and I’m the mouse.
Running through this small playhouse,
My eyes, blue pools, clouded with tears,
Have lost the ability to see anything clear,
In my head it all makes sense,
But if I utter a word, you think I’m a mess.
Maybe I want this.
Maybe you care.
But the doubt fill’s my head,
With nothing but despair,

(c) copyright

Poem by Emily_Lies

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