The year that didn't end

Last year was supposed to be the year of discoveries
Or at least that's what it should have been
Oppressions made things quite uncertain
And in the end everything was consumed by fear

Last year I transmuted from my cocoon
But I didn't break free from my image
As much as I try to pretend this is nothing
It's impossible not to suffer from the foul play

The source of wrath is always an injustice
And in this case it's not even a matter of mind
Because every sentence has been fake

Even with anger and this burgundy vision
I only wish for my sanity to remain
Because last year still hasn't ended

*

The idea is to write two poems about 2023, one about the bad part, the other about the good part.
As expected, the bad one came out first. At least this odyssey turned into a sonnet. Something I hadn't written in a while, even if without meter.
The second will come without any rush. And not so attached to form.

#forallyousee the image contains a sad woman sitting down, with shackles on her ankles and a lost gaze.

Art generated by Bing Creator using the following prompt: "A blonde sad woman with ankle shackles, impressionism, van gogh style"