Mirage

I stand in a river of happiness. 
Everywhere I turn,
I see my face against the mirrors of smoke,
Lips contorted into a smile, when really, it is broke.
I thirst for it—
Passion beyond compare,
Compassion to despair
I lust for it.
An addiction feeding me;
I cannot quit.
What fades is the need to be free.
Not unfit,
but out of wit.
Nothing seems to sit
with me.
I feed off a mirage—
a mirage of happiness.

Categories: Poetry, WritingTags: , , , , , , ,

shakespearian12

I'm a writer.

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