Apr 28
A bygone Variant of a reaper,
Pressing into my skull,
My Appointment with this relentless spirit.
A deadly Competition of pure will.
Open only to myself and the variant.
He Parks himself within my forehead.
Rotating backwards and forward.
He Seals his hold with iron chains.
An irratating, consistent chatter and Gossip.
Do you understand him better now?
ESTÁ A LER
Poetry For The Lost People
Poesia365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions about the way of the world. A...
