The cult of self

The cult of self,

I’ve had to note to self

how I’ve lost it all,

due to a heartbreak fall.

Running past time, I’ve hit the wall,

now time’s running out.

I write for neither fame nor clout.

Do I have lust or love?

Or have I learned to love the lust?

I say to myself:

“Do not blame us for our flaws

we are a child of social construct.”

But I know I’m not,

I run to excuses to feel safe.

But when I write when I feel safe,

I write to know myself.

Someone once said:

“Your sincerity only exists in your writings.”

Because deep down I know I am fighting,

thus, I make wrongs that need writing.





What are you looking for?