Mar 2013
I am done crying
and death is my state.
To the fate of hollow cacti I can relate.
Surprising is this,
Since I thought the grim reeper
Would ooze out with the dew of my purging
Like mucus during a cold.
My spirit is a barren desert with nowhere to go.
There,
The Saguaro Cactus have
No choice
But to be rooted in the
Dusty dross of the land in the desert.
Laiden with thorns.
If they shed their tears, they die.
and death is my state.
To the fate of hollow cacti I can relate.
Surprising is this,
Since I thought the grim reeper
Would ooze out with the dew of my purging
Like mucus during a cold.
My spirit is a barren desert with nowhere to go.
There,
The Saguaro Cactus have
No choice
But to be rooted in the
Dusty dross of the land in the desert.
Laiden with thorns.
If they shed their tears, they die.
I know this is a shitload of self loathing and pitty, but I feel it's appropriate since poetry is a way to vent your feelings. Post Script, just in case you're curious, I'm doing alright now. L-: all is well.
