A Paranoid Princess 2016 Tamara Thompson
You may not be able to see as I walk casually and cooly by,
Not from my breaths sigh, nor the colours of shadows in the corners from my eyes.
Not from the drapes that hover crossed over my head,
Not from the clutch that I clench as I dashingly jet.
You will not know from the crisp sound clicking of ice as I wiggle my hips,
There is no way to tell, as I hide my rouge blushed lips.
The paranoia comes in a rush, a quick burden discovered by deep disguise,
My mind is thrown around thrashing, wishing a weave of washed up lies!.
I fall out of line, choosing my madness as it crawls to my wavering side-
wagering roulette, picking a wrong number and watching it slide.
My thoughts ramble and rock me as I roll, then catches me off guard,
"Who have you been with, why were you so long at the garage?"
My love is ripping, unable to sew,
my soupy thoughts seep in to what I think I may know.
Paranoid clashing behind closed steal doors,
It is a puzzle, a clue, a memory, quite like told folklore.
Trying to match up the days, with a wandering lust,
With questions needing answers from the mountains of mild mistrust.
Trueness uncovered in the sheik, shreeks of the night,
Again this has started a long paranoia fight.
To love, or to be lost-
a question I skim to secretly seek,
To be real in this one life, or fight to be fairly false-
a fake fantasy.
It is not funny though, as this is not a fun-fair delight,
I scream to my temperance with such watchful meddling might.
gathering my thoughts, that burn a lingering cold,
a break in this life to be loved, to know
to grow together; old.
My paranoia has Won, another day scowled and shattered,
behind my breath, I scream to be mattered.
Forcing to realise that I am fiercely favoured in life and Home,
Leaving my unkind sorrow to another day, as it lingers and is mourned.
I am a paranoid Princess, with a frightful disguise,
You will never be able to tell
from the shadows bleeding from the corners of my eyes.
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