There's a gnat within my brain.
I am working through the pain,
but if I'm plain, it's something I can't help but want.
and
The thing burrowed right inside
where the tender stuff resides.
I tried to hide it though I knew you'd see the front.
and
As I'm sitting in the dark
composing poems to dim its spark,
it's made its mark, so now I find I must be blunt.
and
Something's wrong, so wrong, with me.
The bug is in too deep to see—
won't let me be, although it has the gall to taunt.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for Morbid Children
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my more curious and macabre poems. Many of my poems play with words, the sounds and shapes of them. However, I often attempt to delineate emotion and sensation I cannot otherwise word, or I take inspiration from legen...
