philosophical · Poems


Your black thickening potions
Make me cry rivers of harassed poison ivy
Peering into a spittoon
Dreaming of the minute when disaster strikes
There’s fury in my heart, in my pen
And a ghost

Built through the years like a growing fog
It clouds every pore of my solid being
Digging deeper and creating holes filled to the brim
With the ugliest of passions- consequences of hard, suppressed recollections

There is a ghost and it’s everywhere
Perched on my shoulder it sticks out its tongue
Deathly red and sickened with frenzy
I fight it until I fight it no more
I collapse under the grey dew, under the crescent moon
I sit upright and let death wash over me
I move aside and let the rays beam through me.


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