Floating around the gardens of night,
Drenched in toxic waste, flavoursome but wasted.
Seeing spirals spinning rapid, flight cycle adjusted.
Petals regard as blossom that this strange wasp can... fuck.
Enter the magic maze of rushing fluid.
Beauty coated in a thick black tar of the unexplained.
A deathly figure dancing in her fleshly innards,
Just to leave a watermark.
The locks on the box are torn apart,
A chest burst open with the content of love astray.
For a wasp leering his leech into the tree bark.
Bruises on the branches from a jack so deadly.
Swimming in a sea of painted but cracked glass windows.
Dirt ridden crimson with a sorrowful smile.
Gloating to his tribe, laughter and satisfied.
Congratulations on the sting of venality.
Meanwhile she's vile.
Vomiting on her ugly fucking broken skin.
Unhappy.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Souls
PoetryA collection of dark poems I have wrote in regards to various mental disorders, as well as heavy life problems including substance abuse, violence and poverty.
