deflowering mother earth with my thoughts, petals down on the peak of her downfall.. trembling limbs and hours rambling on footnoted hands, pissing on probable possibilities and paradoxical puns.. for, for my life is in need of pure balance.
hi, i can't swim. my vanity jives to the emptiness of devine feminine by Mac, and these poems I write, these poems are an intense silent obituary waiting to be read out, loud. I'm now in motion with my attornment, I'm normalizing smoking habits and passed two stages of candy crush, the saga of my thoughts. It gets messy in the darkness of it all, depriving myself from what's best of me... snack-passing the symphonies of these undiluted credentials that do not define the best me, everlasting memories succumb the genius misspellings of my name, I still can't swim.
(i'm sleeping on a silhouetted death bed, crushing and burning incense, inches away from fathers poor riches)
YOU ARE READING
CONSTELLATIONS AWAY FROM REALITY
PoetryA self-entitled declaration of unwanted feelings in monochromic sarcasm and jotted down ink.
