Molding memories and Meaning To create Reflection of something real My life or Life itself Scraping away layers of dry stale, stagnant ideas-- Perceptions Of This life Formed into an old caste of What they told me Bystanders’ brutality The “right” Reality Instantly irrelevant Turning to truth By solitude Beneath the skin The soul Lies My own self Pieced together A Mezcla of tattered Sensations like Lying lovers Whose lips linger on each thought and breath Losing myself In the past pain Or covering my spirit with My own Gain In vain Thinking of life Meaning To live And not just Make do Reaching in To Remove the sins of my own hellish heart hidden like buried bones my own graveyard Writing words -- flowing like artificial allusions onto paper clearly confusing too thin to penetrate the mind Thinking truth dwells in sounds like tears or in feelings like the sun's light white heat through my dark world's blinds
I'm not a big fan of one word lines composed of the word "of" or other nonmeaningful words. it just makes the poem harder to read. Basically, it's a good poem but your line breaks are definitely hurting it.
