Metal
Hanging in the air so thick one could taste it.
Puddles and smears;
Markings, like warrior paint, across all.
Warmth emanating yet also cold to the touch.
Pounding in the ears,
Screaming to be let out.
Yet it should not.
Soul and life giver; it should not go to waste,
yet in this case it does --
For fighting to the death is a must.
Thriving off of taking it but never wanting to give it.
That is how life is.
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Inner Workings of My Mind
ПоэзияA bunch of different poems and thought processes I've had and finally have the guts to share. I hope you guys like them. *NOT MY PICTURE.* credit goes to who ever made the awesome picture that I'm using for the cover. I personally found it on Pinter...
