Vices; Temple

Breathe, just breathe.
I'm asphyxiating on the numbing concrete.
My vital plasma, drowning the words I'm dying to create.
And I mean it, I'm literally dying to change my fate.
I'm losing oxygen,
while at war with these raw mistakes.

Through the facade of a smile,
Shifting pupils, and an archaic sense of wit.
There's your answer, of how at by sunset, we make any sense of it.

The world's losing its' color, 
things are getting repetitive mile by mile.
I guess I should've known I'd get this bored, 
when it's a tragedy at the end of every trial.

Reviews

[redd Brick Keshner]

The tension and internal struggle is quite palpable and "thick in the air," so to speak, and helps sustain the momentum of the poem until the conclusive end statement of the last two lines.