I grew limbs in a womb of decay.
My roots and trunk stretching out from the aftermath of some vast rotten civilization.
Tainted by broken thoughts of past lives, I grew.
How great and mighty i could have become if it were not for my poisoned soil.
Withered and deformed my aesthetic reflected my putrid insides.
Disgusted by my lack of both beautification and flourish others averted their great windows and soured along with their nourished roots and preened blossoms.
Alone, I faded.
YOU ARE READING
Silent as my screams
PoetryThings I could never say, thoughts I have on my depression and anxiety, and descriptions of fucked up life events. Over all a clusterfuck of fuck this that and the way i feel. Not angry, well not completely anyway, mostly just bitter self-loathing...
