A virus inflicting pain on others.
Why must I do this?
The suffering of myself is manageable
But to see that on someone else is purely puritanical.
Like a virus, I latch on killing you from the inside showing no regard for the outside.
A known treatment is there
But where o where?
All that is true is despair.
Woven by the hands of the Goddess
Smiling at his adoration of pursing Absolute Truth.
Thus ends my diatribe on death.
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Healthy Disorder
PoetryOur mercurial temperaments produce constant chaotic frequencies and considering our daily thoughts and actions we never get deep rest or relaxation of peace that we all seek. Poems can only point out aspects the writer believes are important, but ho...
