.everything is (not) fine.
fury and melancholy are like fire and ice. they exist in the same spheres; there can’t be one without the other. one would think that fire conquers all, but the coldest ends of the earth can’t be touched by the sun. fury and melancholy consume and freeze and burn, until there’s nothing left. they can’t be fought, only tamed.
fuck you.
there’s nothing any of us can do. we’re just ants with boots hovering over our heads. strange dreams. do ants dream?
goddamnit.
it’s strange, how they can draw you in. it’s so nice, for a time. and then you come to your senses and realize: they don’t want you.
YOU ARE READING
Club 27 Has Reached Capacity - F. T. Willz
PoetryEvery poem by F. T. Willz I could find. Some of them are titled by me seeing as they didn't have any titles or dates to use as a chapter name, although every poem is definitely written by F. T. Willz. Enjoy.
