you're such a travesty.
endlessly waiting for a flicker of light
when you try to burn your skin
you're like a holocaust
listlessly staring at all those dreams that take shape
before they're sent to gas camps
your head is a torture house
your lost is all wanting
to be lost again.
you are a figment of the morose
a moth who hates his wings
wishes for the rain to soak them till the end of living.
interesting thing about moths and poetry, i've come across a lot of 'amateur' poets writing about moths. i myself wrote about moths when I read Richard Aldington's poetry where he compares his childhood to a moth stuck in a chrysalis.
'I can't believe in God's goodness;. I can believe. In many avenging gods. Most of all I believe. In gods of bitter dullness...' - R. A
I just googled him right now and he's actually quite good looking.
YOU ARE READING
Ramshackled Ants: Journal Entries
PoetryThese are journal entries. They're pretty sporadic and I don't add dates. Expect a lot of cryptic poetry and possible venting. I own this shit, don't steal it. [poetic copyright]
