Bravo

this masochistic deceit
has finally gotten the better of me

the critic’s vices and virtues
have left me bleeding and bruised
in critical care

now I’m contemplating my own decay
though that’s not left up to me to decide
so by life’s decorative, unfair rules.. I abide

oh dearest phobia..
you’ve left me in a decrepit state
no longer weightless and young
I’m old in my mind
which soon might see the inside of this hearse

oh my mind..
you’ve betrayed me!
you said we’d never falter from our own twisted ways
and we’d never give in to the critic’s comments
but like trees now I sway with the wind
(let the decaying commence)
and you critic..
acting so righteous!!
but you stay from your own path
you follow another critical acclaim
you know you’re just like me
swaying like the trees

like me you’ve been left bleeding before
by sharp words and dull confidence

now with no one to confide in
I look towards my heart and mind
a place where which I can hide in

did Shakespeare hide?
was he ashamed of his words?
how about Frost?
was he embarrassed of his works?
or Vango, or DaVinci with their art?

well I’m ashamed
I’ve betrayed my own heart
what words, if any, do I stay true?

I’ve poisoned my faith
and thrown my wrath at my enemies
and in this moment
the sky, however starry
in this moment
it holds nothing for me
it lacks inspiration I once held

so now I lay in wait
forgetting the critic
forgetting the shame
until more words come to me
until my heart no longer feels cold
until I can tell myself and the critic
the one inside and out
Bravo