Loss of Identity

Little thorns crawl down my skin
                 Taking pieces away from the thin
Little strips soul I still
                  Have left within my cavities

Stake your soul
Place your price
No matter what
One day it’ll suffice

Some sick queen
Or twisted fate
Will come to claim
The most precious thing

Lost sight of self
                         Until one is lost
Sickening thud as
                         Grey must fall

There’s no in between
                               There is only the dark
                                                             Since it is easier to kill
                                                                                           Then to keep a good heart

Fall away
Fall from Flight
Fall till the feather wither
From sight

Leathery touched
And slightly Blackened
Watch out for the sight
Of the newest bitch of the tavern

Don’t threaten death
Don’t toy with the cat
Her claws are sharper
Her speed much better

The chaos of the mind
                               Succumbs to the weakness of the soul
                                                                                    No restraint
                                                                                                    Just desires
This is what becomes of the broken
                               As they search to be something better
                                                   And yet they do not find
That their reflection is brighter

So they avert their gaze
From the mirror that is reality
Look away from themselves
And everything that is sanity

Just to escape the possible guilt
Just to forget any possible shame
Humiliation gnaws its way down a person’s soul
Reducing them to nothing but the primeval source


And suddenly
The person you knew
No longer exists
Eaten by her own bitterness

Transformed into the ones that made her
                           Into what she is now
                          She turns from victim
                         Into a cowl

Forever blinded by the hood of anger
                      She causes pain to the victims around her
Insensitive and brutish
                     Nothing really matters

Except the sensation of satisfaction…

--- Blanka Gasparovich - DA Gallery