Thursday, August 25, 2016

The stories we tell ourselves

The made up stories
In my head
Play over and over
As I hide in bed

They are usually lies
I've convinced myself to be
Tangled up truths
A fabricated reality

Seeds of my dreams
These lies take form
A nightmare mirage
An ominous storm

Blackened middles
Many loose ends
Meloncholy forests
Where darkness bends

I want a way out
I want to wake up to see
There is light to my thoughts
There is a hopeful reality


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