I may look like a saint.
But you’re completely
Clueless on the pictures
I paint. Living my life,
In silence, keeping this
Info confided, because
You don’t know that
Being a saint is all the
Things that you keep
Constraint Never being happy and full of complaints.
what if I
Said i’m Not like rest
Not even the best, I
Later confess that my
Life is blessed, but we
All have demons and
I can’t help to have
These feelings, that beauty is pain and not a lie even if it
Means you are left to cry.
Don’t you know that being
Alone means all your talents
Cannot be shown? Don’t you know that being a saint leaves
You left behind in This world we made? My Darkness is what I call home and I will continue writing poems. I’m not attracted to what is fake, or anything else you would ask me to take. Give me what is real I’ll make you a deal and everything else I feel, will be locked in a safe where I can seal.
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