it writhes against itself
there is no enemy
all the world -
the great disasters, a storm sent from sea
the pleasantries, a sweet flower in bloom
- they are all its works
a panicked movement
twisting and untying
pulsing like a heart deep within the earth
its scales no longer hiss along each other
they are rubbed raw from ages of fruitless battle
in the pure silence
its whispers creep into the minds of many
when does it end
sleep and be at peace
know not the curse of immortal prison
you do not want to be a god.
YOU ARE READING
Book #2
PoetryThe old one is old and cringey. So I made a new one! I'm not a freakish middle school fangirl anymore, so you can read my ideas without internally dying! Now, it's meme time. // (mostly short stories and poetry, with a lil bit of meme-y stuff (idk)...
