most days my mind
feels more like a graveyard
than a garden
my body; a corpse
buried under the soil
my thoughts planted
just as dead as the summers harvest
in the midst of winter
YOU ARE READING
noceur
PoetryIf you were about to leave this planet, what would you say, and who would you say it to? In this book of my poems, that I wrote almost exclusively in the young hours of days when insomnia ruled my life. This is how I speak my truth. If I were about...
demise
most days my mind
feels more like a graveyard
than a garden
my body; a corpse
buried under the soil
my thoughts planted
just as dead as the summers harvest
in the midst of winter
