I'm pretending
I'm descending
In a pit of comprehending
Of why I'm condescending
And I'm infuriating
And debating
Whether its blood that I'm tasting
Or just the time that I'm wasting
But my head is made of lead
And I collapse as if I'm dead
The thunder is louder in my head
So I wanna go back to bed
I'm painfully painting
Frantically fading
Slightly saying
I'm definitely draining
YOU ARE READING
A Constant Poets Thoughts
PoetryI am constantly thinking poetically and finding meaning in the menial. I figured letting others read how I think might give insight to the world behind our own. Enjoy.
