Her bruised soul cries

pic via cdn.seelingbooks.com

Thinks she is happy,
But her life is slippery.
Thinks she is free;
In denial of her misery,
She “escapes” from worry:
Drinks, parties, smokes,
Hallucinates, flirts,
Sleeps with random sirs,
Acts like hungry cougars,
And daydreams,
Wanting to be a nun.

Thinks she’s having fun:
Living off milk and cereal,
And anticipating a future so abysmal.
She widely opens her door,
Only for a fleeting pleasure.

Never serious, always fooling around,
Seeking attention, and wasting her mind.
Attempting to run away from herself,
She cynically ruins her life.
She fears her own shadow;
She lives in a room without a window.

Stuck in a rut, she only gets worse;
Day after day, she’s trapped in a mess.
She barely tries to tackle her problems.
She’s allergic to a logical reasoning;
She prefers an ephemeral feeling.

No sense of direction,
No desire for self-liberation
As she remains a slave to her addiction.
No mission, no action.
Same shit all over again.
No goal, no compass.
No progress!

pic via herradar.com

Her bruised soul cries:
Tired of her emptiness,
Her misadventures,
and her impotence.

She has no idea how to get out,
Nor is she determined to try it.
She’s in a la la land
Where self-confidence is dead.

Waiting for an easy pass
From Mr. Prince, perhaps?
Truth is she’s her own savior;
Neither a husband, nor a lover;
She knows this, but fails to act on it sooner.

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4 thoughts on “Her bruised soul cries

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