I got a scar a bit lower than my birds
They say my gaze is a scare
But I'm just planning my welfare
If you got the guts come and fight me
And hit me like that snare
You think you know, you think you know
But mine are the details of all the blows
You don't know shit, you don't know hurt
You don't know what this body can do
I don't care, dismember me
I will die and my thoughts will flee
And infest your minds for all I care
Automas for my books, me a billionaire
On the 7th of july long before I was born
Some flowers bloomed but only made of thorns
Enveloped me in a hug of love, then made of scorn
They puched me in the gut and kicked me out the door
YOU ARE READING
In The Shadows
PoesíaMy fourth poetry book, all about introspection in this time of lockdown.
