My Own.

These are not the shadows
Of the things that have been won,
These are but the residues
Of real people and things that survived.
Shapes dark and light
Defined and blurry
Pinching and comforting
Some friends and foes
Some wasted partners
Seconds of ecstasy
Hours of repentance
The forgery of emotions
Forced pity and sympathies.
The truth that killed
The marks that burned deep.
Its a fable worth trashing
In coats of fur and fawn
My story, my pain,my misery
Non moving and mediocre
Its all that I have.