There there in the parts of my shrinking head, I missed the point of intersection, where my consciousness meets my conscience, as I bully myself to feel security, becoming my own worst enemy, while imagining myself as a hero on a journey of sin and redemption in a cumulative loop of trash, how will I ever be able to reach a billion other minds? If my hostile nerves rack the hostel of my insides, I can always kill myself and move on.. de-exist, still I pity myself while holding on to my empathetic intuition towards my kind, but its always unreciprocated, always complicated, always misunderstood, always ignored
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts from the books I will never write
PoetryThese are excerpts from books that I have abandoned. Some of them are literal excerpts from the story I had planned other's are just general theme of the books that I once wanted to write and will be in the form of poetry.
