Monday, 30 April 2018

On a frayed self


With the smoke of mistrust forming an overarching cloud,

And the shadows of deceit boasting a magnificent glow,

We are swiftly becoming a generation that is afraid of love.

Perhaps, not becoming,

We are.



Guarding ourselves no longer seems like an Herculean task,

In fact, we excelled in the field so much

That the walls now vouch for comfort and familiarity.

We are a generation that is afraid of innocent trespassers.



The magnetic pull of solitude is strong,

It has always been enchanting,

For it has no one barring our Lacanian self,

But the realisation of the self is unnerving,

And we've naively tried to break the immortal mirror a thousand times.



We are a generation that doesn't want to know itself.


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