I am good at lying
Little white lies
That go with my disguise
Golden wings
So pure and kind
On the outside
Of which people see
And breathe
In my presence
And would consider my
Personality when I feel
I don’t actually have one
The feelings are there in
The black ink blots in
the back of my mind
Except they aren’t true
They are the little white lies
That go with my disguise
Golden wings
So pure and kind
I don’t actually feel
Those feelings that
Are cramped in the black ink blots
In the back
Of my mind because
They have been there for
So long that I have lost
Touch with them that
I cannot feel them
Truly anymore
Nor do I know how to
Touch them once again
Or even only reach
Or beg to even catch
A glimpse of their
Dappled faces
That have been
Cramped in the darkness
In the back of my mind
Held hostage in the darkness
Of the back of my mind
So weak and cold
And almost like nothing
Just like how I feel
True