Reads: 490  | Likes: 3  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 2

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

A poetic reflection through the eyes of mental illness.




Short fleshy man with flushed cheeks 


chubby hands, 

dirt under your nails. 

Gazing into your pupils 

I can see the very part of myself 

I hate 

Glaring back at me 

Bringing the distinction into sharp clear focus 

The outlines are usually blurred 

Ancient me, eternal me, 

Or the rotting cage that keeps me buried

 in reality 

You can't see the truth through the veil of 


 Sure footed, 

never losing sight of the lit path laid before me. 

Feeling my wings scratching at the bloody lining of this walking mausoleum

Built of flesh and bone. 

Worn and torn from the struggle to keep me in 

wearing thin






Submitted: August 14, 2021

© Copyright 2023 Louise Prichard. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



You've laid out the anatomy of this piece the way free verse is meant to be presented. The imagery is fantastic as are the metaphors. You are a prison to your soul.

Wed, August 18th, 2021 3:10am


Thank you so much!!! I'm not sure what I m doing but I'm so so glad it well precieved by you!! Thanks very much for your feedback!

Wed, August 18th, 2021 10:04am

Tristan Biggs

Love this! It's very descriptive. Free verse is definitely your forte

Sat, August 21st, 2021 8:44am


Awww thank you so much!!

Sat, August 21st, 2021 9:51am

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