Pain is like the parasite
latched to your endless gut
constantly stabbing
the acrid recollections of time

You can slit to bleed open
leaving you wounded
scarred
How many more times
will you dig the same grave?
And each time
one less sensation
until you finally decide to sit with it
and absume

So are my poems
dipped in glorious words
and cast to bottomless pit

Despite my perfection portrayal
my mumma smelt
the cloaked darkness
dripping from my lethiferous eyes
She brewed a potion of nepthene
tried to uproot them all

She grew weary
and now worships the dark
Could I blame her?
I wish I was the Lucida
she hoped for

The person that I am
I've been sown weeds of all kinds,
belied
I've been gone for long
all that remains
the forlorn shadows and dust
And lo, I scribble
epitaphs of my demons in disguise

So before you weigh the depth
and wonder why
Before you happen to woe my
crestfallen poems and
kiss my broken wings
know
I've become an annihilator.