In twisted hues of purple and blue,
A feeling creeps that I once knew,
Shame, oh how you haunt me still,
A ghostly presence that chills my will.
Your whispers echo through my mind,
“You’re not enough,” your voice so unkind,
With each step, my heart entwined,
I falter, lost in self-despised shrine.
The world may see a facade so bright,
But inwardly, I hide from sight,
My soul beset by endless fight,
Against the shackles of your might.
Oh, how I wish to break free,
From this prison of misery,
To find solace in glee,
And dance under starry spree.
But alas! Your grasp is strong,
My spirit weary, unable to move along,
So here I stand, lost and wrong,
A slave to the chains of shameful song.
What’s all the rave? It’s the Poetry Slave! Enslaved by the art, and free at his heart, he’s a versifier and his verse burns with fire. he is honest and brave, the Poetry Slave.