I steal, I rob, I beg,
Yet somehow,
All becomes ruins,
When compared to your beautiful wreck.
I kill, I haunt, I groan,
Though,
My creations are none,
When through your remnants I roam.
I stab, i push, i thrust
Nonetheless,
My mind is a mess,
My worship a backstabbing must.
YOU ARE READING
poetry of a pitiful 'poet'
PoetryA collection of poems i've written while being partially asleep and/or on the bus to school. Eng/Ger
