Cryptic cholera on my sovereign guilt
Simmering in the pleasure , thy canvass
Everything's blank, everything's pure
It is not a sword , that's causes a war
It's premature Venice in the soul
Life could it be It, given a chance
A nightblue murder
A charismatic Lauren of maniacs
Silence and death, two myths we are made to brim
In our gut, we know , he's the darkest shadow
Living a life of internuclear metamorphosis
But
Still
He's living
Breathing maybe , a ray of champagne or two
Coz death is eternal, not worthy of prejudice.
YOU ARE READING
NOT FLAWLESS ENOUGH
PoetryNone of us are actually flawless, How much ever we try to make ourselves believe we are perfect, we are amazing.. we'll still be carrying the scars of our own lives and the glories of someone else's But we still try to be flawless, hiding all the m...
