If I were a pair of scissors,
I wouldn't know how to feel.
Probably not covered with blisters,
For then I'll know it's real.
Will I be feeling guilt & shame?
As I cut through paper, skin & veins?
Will that still count, when I know we're all the same?
Will I melt down when I touch the flame?
There are many things that I would like to regain.
But one for sure, is not pain.
I do not want to rust,
And eventually turn into dust,
Because everything that does,
Turns into nothing, but a forgotten lust.
October 2015
YOU ARE READING
The Aspect Of Oblivion
PoetryThe planted seeds of my wretched thoughts and emotions have bloomed their way out onto these pages, birthing a catastrophic garden; a virtue of beauty. A collection of emotions and thoughts documented in words, encompassing a voyage through the laby...
