What terrible guilt!
The ground is soft as silt
Everywhere I tread.
Gray matter, brain fluid
Swollen with blood and sin's sweet music
Only the stupid remain the truest.
This is what happens when
You spend too much time
Inside a dead man's mind.
You get to feeling better about yourself.
YOU ARE READING
Poems Don't Have to Rhyme
PoetryPoetry collection. Some of it is pretty good, most of it is pretty bad.
