Something cracking after sunrise, someone laughing at your grief
Something pulling out the curls of madness laying underneath
In this life, some people call me the sanity theif.
Conquering every part of the map, my invasive trap
My lands and your escape overlap
It's a game I love to rule, a supply of puppets for me to ridicule.
Buttons for eyes and wire for teeth,
My marionettes come in petty sets
They break; I carry needles in my sheath
And there's thread up ahead
If an arm is torn off by the grenades that I embed
Shame that they tell you it’s all in your head.
You can’t hold me back from glory, my territory
A strategy story
And I’m the source, the writer.
I will make my stitches tighter
Paint my subjects in my intensity, a new immensity
I’m done with conformity, ready for enormity
Bigger than the boring,
There’s plenty I’m storing.
You think I have paid… then look at what I've made.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryThis is a select few of the poems I've written over the past two years or so. They're not the best and the rhythms are all messed up. But you know idc about that anymore so Enjoy my endless train of thoughts.
