BRUTISH DOLOR
I am a half empty glass of Russian water
Binding my sorrows with a flame stick
mind a swirling tarp
Being yanked uncomfortably rough by my desolated conscious like a straight jacket
Brutish dolor an Acridity to the eyes
Pungent with its smell
Wraps itself around you wanting to befriend
But do not be fooled
This agony is not a friendly companion
It will plunge you dead
Shadow you cold and airy
You will taste it's bitter streak at the end of your tongue
Smoke up your once pure lungs
And defile your sanity
YOU ARE READING
4am
PoetryI spent most of my life learning how to feel less These days I teach myself to feel more Kill your emotions and you'll die along with them C O M P L E T E D 2016•2018
