౨ৎ ִ - 𝗋͟𝗈𝗹͟𝗹͟𝗂𝗇͟𝗴͟ 𝗴͟𝗂𝗋͟𝗹͟ ,, vent poetry

00000. ballad of a corpse

       ִ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ𝐌𐐼 𝐂𝐡́ᧉ𝗿𝐢ᧉㅤִ ⎯⎯ ִ

౨ৎ ִ : α𝗋ᥱ ⴘ᥆υ ꪑιຮຮι𝗇ᧁ ᥖᥱ ? 🪷ִ   

to this dear prison of flesh that binds me to this hell-wretched place,

pulled by strings and forced to perform to this audience

curse to prolong this sin we call existence

long has this body fulfilled its purpose,

now weightless and hollow,

an empty shell of what once was,

yet these strings tug at and sway this corpse of mine,

twisting and breaking all these limps of mine once more in the process

spectator of my own body,

I twist and turn into the night,

this body of mine worn and weary from the act of this performance,

yet the flies in my brain fly in an incessant flurry

forcing me awake

oh, how I yearn to live with such grace again, 

how I long to be able to sway and dance as I once did amidst those friendly and kind faces,

have you seen the way my face contorts in agony, my dearest audience?

these calloused and bloodied hands of mine will tear both you and I in the process,

these wretched and incoherent pleas and cries will all repulse you,

these boulders that have fused with the vines that tie this prison of flesh will someday,

find a way to crush you beneath them as well,

after having broken these fragile bones of mine

so please,

hear my call,

and finally break these strings of mine,

and allow me the privilege of rest

allow me freedom,

allow me release,

and watch as the colors finally explode from my brain,

and finally fly away.

oh, my dear prison of flesh....

... This hit so hard in my brain but I spent all my energy on this fucking books format and I lost all the verse ideas and now its dog shit.

Fucking kill me.