We look to death at the very least the thought of dying as a means of self indulgence.
We embrace the possibility of damnation with poisoned smiles and open arms, the thrill is so seductive
And ever so inviting
We fall into our failures with booming laughter and eager complacency.
Our hateful, violent thoughts
Serve as music to our erratic, disheveled waltz, we make our own steps as we go along.
Loving freely in the madness of our minds.
YOU ARE READING
Mephisto's Anthology
Poetrya collection of old poems written by a younger version of myself I stumbled upon these recently and felt like Putting them out there. And I've been adding more to the collection whenever inspiration strikes They aren't properly punctuated Or writte...
