Within the Masked Corridor
2008
I no longer find comfort in my scripted words
Soft, hopeful hands sculpting them to verse
Only days have turned to years for me alone
Bowing my head, a sentence for my curse
That deceiving friend you have all in white
A paradise found in the alleys of the damned
If I could go back, my mistakes go black
Id find myself in who I am.
I hear no waves of water in my soul
I perhaps am just who I’m told
But I fear only a fool would dare being whole
So in pieces we lie, in pieces we control
My head has run away to towns unknown
My heart lies low awkward and unfeeling
And my spirit is fragile and left on its own
This road I walk never ends when desired.
But halts abrupt for the empty and vain.
Confusion born in toils and shame
No light fills my trance with simple beauty
lust laying in suspicious awes
I kneel to a threatening disposal
Vague nights, fallible trials, sickening flaws
Azure saucers on a table
And promiscuous behavior of a cobwebbed room.
Pale frost over my face and eyes
And my road ahead in certain doom.
—C.R.Stanger
2008
Poem on addiction.
The masked corridor as I called it.
I have another I’ll find and put up called escaping the masked corridor. Sad and bleak for a teen.
