The fence is NOT a friend...
Sitting on a picket fence and dreaming of my throne,
I’m taken by a wicked sense that steals me from my own.
Suddenly, I find that I am neither here nor there
But resting just between the two without the proper fare.
Steps had been neglected; as were rules that went ignored
Though, feelings were reflected that were thought to be restored.
I’d failed to set a simple line; forgot to brand my trail...
Now, I find, I’m lost in time and twisted by its veil.
My pleas for help fall silent still, as do my frightened cries,
While fear shall not control my will, it fills me with its lies.
My cure– in truth, and truth be stained– thus traded for a curse.
Resolve grows weak and brightly pained by what was sought the most.
Caught by webs well woven, spinning venom to a maze
The truth will well be broken by this detrimental phase.
Answers fade to feral as they feast upon confusion
And reasons blink to sterile as they bond to this illusion.
Upon deceit there comes, perhaps, a point in which to break
Rising from the darkest deep with a hard impression to make...
This is what it's like to live atop that fence...
philosophical, metered, rhyming