How does it feel
to be an outcast?
I look in the mirror
each day and years
seem to take their
toll.

Death creeps
as the dark and
sometimes brown
flickers in the
iris.

When will destiny
be my own in something
desireable in the
summer songs?

Dreams seem to
lead to desire,
and despair seems
to shead no tears
on the empty hearted.

I face each day with
delirium as destruction
paints the pain of
my existence into view.

Lovers kiss and hold hands,
and bread mixed with vingar and
oil dilute into a mass
as I slide it behind tongue
and cheek.

The wine slurs the
images all around me,
as people become empty,
and I thirst for dreams
and lover's first kiss.

I scream in frustration,
I drink and accept that
lovers and dreamers
have lives beyond my own.

Let me just face heaven
cause everyone is my
tormentor and every flesh
is my demon.

Hell is me and I am
what hell is to everyone.
Scorn me and spurn me as
you would despair.

08/19/2006

Posted on 08/20/2006
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin