electric pulsed,
ionizing under fake sunlight
getting fake sunburn
but a fire is a fire is a fire
and i'm still,
electric pulsed,
man or artifice or god
in whatever order,
poetry is the art of everything;
less about love,
more about recovery
its
waking up in your coffin
the morning
after you've dreamt
of a past lover
the pain
that heals
like the continents
d
r
i
f
t
.
to this end
there is a beginning
that feels like
god to man to artifice
(what is man to artifice if not god)
heavier
than the art of everything
the poetry of inky blood and red eyes
the distant solace
in pain
wherein, words
always run out
and the end comes
with a clash, we're all going.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
electric pulsed,
ionizing under fake sunlight
getting fake sunburn
but a fire is a fire is a fire
and i'm still,
electric pulsed,
man or artifice or god
in whatever order,
poetry is the art of everything;
less about love,
more about recovery
its
waking up in your coffin
the morning
after you've dreamt
of a past lover
the pain
that heals
like the continents
d
r
i
f
t
.
to this end
there is a beginning
that feels like
god to man to artifice
(what is man to artifice if not god)
heavier
than the art of everything
the poetry of inky blood and red eyes
the distant solace
in pain
wherein, words
always run out
and the end comes
with a clash, we're all going.
not sure why, but i combined two topics. i am aware that this poem lacks any real cohesion, but it was an important thing for me to write out, so whatever. i like it.
