the art of the soul
turns your ink into ashes
your ashes to ink
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
nobody ever really
fully grasps a concept
what we know
are merely shadows
just empty projections
we try to make
illusions of convesations
exchanging nods of affirmation
yet are devoid of comprehension
we dine with strangers
whose whims, whose dreams,
whose greatest fears
we think we know
but no
along never ending
mirror walls, we walk
surmising our reflections
as who we are
even how disfigured,
distorted they may be
all we do is crawl
inside ill-lighted caves
pretending to know
what lies ahead
until we stumble
until we're dead
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
it felt like trying
to get away with homicide
except
i was guilty
for keeping something alive
repressing ardent feelings
holding back words
locking them in a cage
like wild little birds
but my mistake
was leaving something
out in the open
forgetting the evidence
the body, this poem
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC