Spoken talent shows

All this talent within its shows

A master of its

Puppet –tears as it flows

This blood of mine

No faces made to remind

This build–i climb

I am–made to believe

As if–the maker is of

Time

And so i mime

This place opened to

Face these faces with

, find–as commercials deceased

A temporary relief

Decreasing the seeings

Of this– blood of mine

I face stains

That remain the same colors of sustains

These sirens that silence

With pain—all to

Blame— a mime, one

Of its kind —A heart

Croaked, these words

That went blind

–behind

“My enemy lines”.

Mitchell, Tierra (ae)

Published by Alpha’s Poetry notes

I am what is considered to be a starving artist; support my vision, my dream to be free with a like and/or comment. #Sharedemo

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