some part of me is currently lost,
and if you ask me how much,
i cannot tell you.
this is no ordinary cost,
the brink of sanity and moods and such
that it's difficult to know what's true.
you stood beside me wherever I went,
and the way you played on my worst fears
had me wishing you'd play on my dreams, too.
but we crept around all of it
and what else do I do besides let tears
fall in between hyperventilated gasps?
who made the monster, and who
does grotesque bestow its favour to:
my tired skin and bones,
or your brittle fragile soul?
YOU ARE READING
OF SANITY AND MOODS AND SUCH
PoesíaWelcome ghosts and mischievous tricksters. In this season of delightful spooks and devious treats, this mini poetry chapbook explores frightful fears and possession like it's a horror film, but outside, the autumn leaves fall down, and you're wrappe...
