Why does it seem like a fault?
Like a torn curtain, that has never been torn,
And a red rug that has never been polished?
A species that has never been killed,
Blood that has never been spilled,
Sheens of shines,
That spared neither you nor I,
That speer that took you by surprise,
The harsh reality that you realized.
Why does it seem so nonsensical,
Like when you say I wasn't meant to be?
Or that the clouds don't give the sky,
Much of a pleasing aesthetic.
The embarrassing scene of black roses,
Littering your house when you awoke,
The greed that fed your mind,
The pierce that sent you to thine.
But why were you dead?
I'm sure you agree gravity is a natural dread.
YOU ARE READING
A Universe Of Mystery✧
PoetryThe second book for: My Book Of Poetry I hope you enjoyed my last book and that this book will as fun(ish), better and even enjoyable than my last. If you're reading this book first, then I hope you love/like it. This book may include triggers such...
