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Shame
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Poems. When my blood is wearing thin,
I don't know where to begin.
I wear my heart on my sleeve,
but still, people will find a reason to leave.
I walk around feeling so raw,
there's a tightness in my jaw.
I can't relax, I'm feeling weak,
not an ounce of strength in my physique.
I often wonder where the line is drawn,
between the player and the pawn.
Do they ever willingly switch roles?
Or is it at the expense of their souls?
When you master the game,
do you still feel that shame?
Or does the shame decease,
and you finally experience peace?
