I hope you're feeling misty, with a sense of nebulous haze
Remembering the times that hinder my days
When I'm on the warpath during March
On the pre-colonial love of us
I hope you're becoming tremendous at fixing yourself
I also need impactful, urgent help
In two souls' mergence, I found opulence
That, neither did I expect
You said you're an associate; no, you're a sindicate
Holding comfort through my veins
Consoling dissonance and restricted arrogance
My instability counts toward your sacred days
How can we fix ourselves and how can we avoid begging for help?
When I was raised by it, now it seems that it's sick
Caused by disruption, destruction, and explosions
No, really, who am I to fix me?
YOU ARE READING
Your Love Buried Deep Inside My Disastrous Heart (Poetry)
ŞiirMy most poetically written poems are buried deep inside my disastrous heart. Love is poetry; you are the poetry.
