i haven't moved for days, i see no purpose in it, simply for my life
has ended far before it began, and there was no way for me to stop it
so i remain in these interminable woes, these throws of anguish
my eyes are sharply brought to the sky, a fire that could not be extinguished
shadow dragons spitting black phlegm, nightwalkers howling, and a mere hobbit
roams amid these disasters, unbeknownst to the endless strife, should i take a knife
and end it here
where no one could hear?
YOU ARE READING
this fantastical world is too surreal (poetry #5)
Poetry"a rustle crackles underneath jackboots crossbow tight in hand she breathes one final breath before he pulls the trigger" you know the drill
