I pull my pen cause I couldn't pull the rope around my neck,
I prickle my pages cause I couldn't prickle my veins,
I used to be an ace and now I'm the joker in the deck,
I smudge my symphonies cause I don't have a unique lense
The learned lab-coat losers call it hyperactivity,
The hyperactive neurons work but never earn,
The learned lab-coat losers call it burning creativity,
The burnt out neurons rest but never learn
It's not the lack of attention but a planned intention,
Intention of being lazy, they say to lie on bed, everyday,
They can't comprehend a crushed corpse's creation
Breathe is mere air and body is skin and bones blending in clay
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Harrowing Hiraeth: Suicide note that I never wrote
Poetry.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・ 𝗛𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗲𝘁𝗵 : longing for a home which never existed A poetry collection of obscure sorrows, of longing, solitude, nostalgia, healing and trauma. .・゜゜・:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・ ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ -> This poetry...
