The Demise of Pride

Does what it says on the tin.

Soulless, learning how to die.

The mirror doesn't lie and I don't cry.

Here I am, I sell self-deception,

Heart half-dead from raw infection.

 

The chambers rot, fraught with decay,

My scabbed mask begins to peel away.

Do you loathe what you've become?

Bloodied wrists, eyes caked with scum.

 

Kill away all your childish dreams,

Lock them up where I can't hear their screams.

Mindfucked for too long with my own suicide

Choke on your tears; this is the demise of pride.

Author's Note

Rhyming...see what I did there? ;)

Reviews

[L'Éphoectique]

I think the last stanza stands out of the rest a bit too much, but otherwise the beggining really drew me in. ''Selling self-deception'' sounds as well as it reads, and the words are very well manipulated. Maybe a bit of refining of the last stanza could help. I love the images you bring into your poem.