Our hands touched in a cold burning sensation;
As envious eyes traced our every move
Eager to tear me from your grasp, reality a dull beguiling sensation
That hopes to rip me from the aesthetic chorus of magnificence that is you.
Our faithless promises and dreams of a revolution
to be dutiful, obedient, conventional
No.
To be creative, to break foolish laws.
I do not wish to see the world burn
I wish to see outdated fallacies set ablaze and we shall be the ones to ignite the first sparks.
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...
