Oh, I'm a nightmare,
cold, naked, proud,
stripped of all lies and delusions,
carved by definition,
not devotion;
darkened and devilish.
You won't see my healing,
you'll touch it,
you'll taste it,
you'll love it,
live for it,
sin after sin
after
sin.
YOU ARE READING
The Blooming of Madness
PoetryThe observer in me sees, and he feels deeply what he sees. This only allows him to be so many people all at once. This is why my writing is so scattered and can often seem like a contradiction: I live inside other people and i speak from their viewp...
