I don’t feel a thing.
Nothing.
Nothing as I walk through the flames of my internal uproar.
I do not comprehend the feel of the flames
Licking my skin,
As they leave a white-hot trail of slime.
I do not understand the full weight
Of every nerve in my body being ignited
Under the consumption of utter and immense pain.
I do not realize the complexity
Of my heart
Shattering to pieces.
The question plays over and over,
Wrapping around my skull,
Crushing my cranium.
But is it real?
The sensation that I feel in the dark depths of my subconscious—
Is it truly what goes on around me?
Or shall I continue to imagine the delusion in my broken innocence?
I don’t feel a thing.
Nothing.
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My Wondering Thoughts Set In Ink (My Poetry Collection)
PoetryThis is just a bunch of my poetry. It's basically my thoughts on how I think of things, or my thoughts on my life, on experiences, or just when I kind of imagine something then well- set it in ink. I hope you enjoy them! Besides, I felt annoyed with...
