The dancing fire and
the dazzling future,
perching into my neck
like a dire butcher.
I see obscene images
when I close my eyes,
and when I light the candle
I confront my crimes.
Which ones you ask?
look to your right and you'll find
the answer awaiting for your sight.
Mountains covered in
a purple and reddish hue,
relate to my ways of
painting with a rubbish blue.
Send me a letter, a note
or whatever.
Because I'm not perpetual
I'm fading with every
graze of harsh air,
and the dirt accumulating
on my hair.
YOU ARE READING
Self Taught Reality | a poetry book
PoesíaPoetry books aren't that popular here but that should change, so I'm giving it a go. Writing is all I do besides school so poems are the only way I've found works to pour all the painfully abstract thoughts out of my head. I hope someone out there...
