There's twilight's child
calling,
baby,
He whispers.
Innocence was never as perfect as this.
Here's momentary glory
surrounding you,
a tide
turning inside,
making you want to rip your guts inside out.
There's nothing but what there was.
Nothing changes,
nothing should.
Why should it?
We crash.
We all crash, we all fall.
Some of us break out backs, some of us
learn how to land
feline-esque.
YOU ARE READING
Goblin Garden (My first collection of random poems) PUBLISHED!
PoetryThere is a shadow lurking on the edge of our perception, in the worst of our nightmares. It is us. It has always been us. Welcome to my first collection of poetry. Here you will find a mangled mess of dark, eccentric and sometimes hopeful poems...
