so what if the food I'm eating is long rotten?
the kitchen I'm in don't serve any new type of love
There are only dusty utensils; mold took cover and brand new bugs crawl
Musky tables are masked with perfumes–
a bottle of pretensions
like a geenie waiting to be sniffed
And blank stares of the dead; silhouettes of their intense spits stained deep within
the trapped and lonely child paradox
YOU ARE READING
Dazed Off
PoetrySee what the young poet wrote in her old journals at only the age of twelve, and how her mental state progressively gets worse at age fifteen:) Collection of poems mostly about God, family, love, and hate to oneself. • most impressive ranking: #6 in...
