Living vicariously
Through various vagabonds.
Wandering and wondering;
What a wonderland would feel like.
Altering my state of mind, assaulting the accommodation of my populated thoughts like poppies pollute the ground with periwinkle dots. Which when diluted, desecrates the diseased, and
opens the operation of opium that
I have so frequently used in thought
But I have not, because believe me
I have seen too much death to go blindly, blatantly billowing handfuls of tablets onto my tongue with a wash of tea every few ticks of a clock, or leaving track marks and horrendous veins on my arms, this area is hostile like heroin. By this area I mean the apparatus that is my mind, encased in a cranial coffin, I hope you are not claustrophobic as this caustic acid of thought process corrupts the very being of me.
YOU ARE READING
For You
PoezjaThis is for you. If you're seeing this, I hope you read it. A collection of my poetry. Ongoing.
