poetry

Subterfuge

sinking

Christina Strigas

Every time I read The Great Gatsby
The flaws appear like claws.
The false hope (the buried seeds)
The reality (the burnt lights)
The illusion (the masked truth)
Living in the moment (dying for it)
The deceit (the diversity of love).
Hence, the walls rise
To reflect upon the mortar
And perhaps I could be the woman you need
But do you even need me?
You are thriving on your own
Free
Alive
Much better than I fare
I’d rather wear my jeans
Than put on the fake fancy air. I will not write for you.
She is far from who I could ever be
and he is not you.

None of it is real
plays with my head
as I stare at the moon
during the day before I open my bed.
I mean nothing of what I say
do not care about the splash
I suppose Daisy and…

View original post 47 more words

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8 thoughts on “Subterfuge”

      1. I just had a sample of Crush sent to my phone. Not my normal genre, but hey, I’m not getting any younger, so better try it while I can still remember to do so.
        (͡• 🔥 ͜ʖ 🔥 ͡•)

        Liked by 1 person

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