Unsure of what I will become. The things I planned to do. The person I planned to be. Changed. Somewhere I got lost within myself and found by the scheme of another. A cog in the machine. A replaceable part. Used and worn, then thrown away. Not even given enough respect to be recycled. Time did not wait for me. Opportunity passed by me and looked me in the eye, but I looked away. Fear is my blanket and I sleep in a bed of doubt. The night is cold and unforgiving, but I have laid in the warmth of illusion. Only to be awakened by the blaring harshness of reality. Who am I? The mirror does not lie, but I have to face it. I already know what I will see. I have felt pain until it brings me a sliver of pleasure. Pain at least breaks the monotony and reminds me that I am alive...but dead in spirit. Broken. Shards of my childhood ambition stab at my soul.The memory of what was. The reminder of what is. Dim lights flicker and reveal faint images of my demise. I reach out and fall into my mind. Unsure of what I will become.
Poem by Jason Thomas
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Thanks for checking out my website, y'all! Drawing is a labor of love for me, and I hope you can see that in my work.---Jason Thomas