I loathe this non-too humble abode of which I am forced to call home.
Wrapped in a cone called my back bone.
A prideful stance towards this constant dance of what men chance as talent or mere skill.
Possibly, defining my will with my favorite quill.
And still the things entrusted upon myself to fulfill.
Will force me, yes force me to fill my head with thoughts of dread.
Horrible concerning wants.
Understanding the world a bit more puts me in a swirl.
This twirl of the balancing pendulum.
Silencing coil of despair.
This tear, is not fair.
Cast through time with only slime at my feet lime between my teeth.
Life is grudgingly slow, the longest thing this consciousness will ever know.
Though, all I intend to do is pretend i'm you so I can wear your shoe.
Pair with your pain too.
Ludicrous ideas.
Spontaneous right here.
"Is it quite near?" I ask myself hesitantly.
Searching around to see if anyone has presently noticed a single of his ideas.
No sight, only fear.
Reaching for his pen.
He hopes, ho the dope.
He hopes.
"I sit quite near?" He asks again with the new overwhelming presence.
It was only a tear.
The End
YOU ARE READING
A collection of epiphanies
PoetryEntering the mind of another human has always intrigued and excited readers. As beyond our imagination stretches depths we can only hope to conceive. Conceive no farther, as I will show everyone here the inner depths of the soul.
