Blessed with a tongue of a poet
Cursed with the mind of the mad
Paint it from pain
That's what the tortured ones says
Walk the tight wire
One slip, drain that potential
All the words in all the world
Would never be enough
To satisfy this wretched brain
With a shuffle of the cards, a toss of the bones
Or by some omniscience
This just happened to be me
YOU ARE READING
Symptoms
PoesíaPoetry. Love. Happiness. Sadness. Depression. Guilt. Regret. Struggle and Confliction. We may all be breathing, we may all have our hearts beating. But these are our vital signs. These are symptoms that prove we're alive.
