Let the poison as honey flow from the tip,
And let it drip,
Drip, into my eyes and seek to infect my mind,
Make you seem kind,
Kind, through my veins it runs as a subtle intoxication,
You cause my frustration,
Frustration, confused with paranoia like a blade amidst the grass,
But time has come to pass,
Pass, and fail now the poison impotent you mean nothing.
YOU ARE READING
Soft Curses of Angels - Volume 1 - A Fistful of Dust
PoesíaThe earliest part of my chronological anthology of bad poetry. Estimated age at time of writing 12-16. I both thank and apologise to any soul who takes the time to read these.
