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B E Cults
Poems
Jul 2021
brutalist 4
mud for the crown,
gun for the mouth
of a lesser me.
that's vespers on the wind.
do you hear them?
I'm weathering the night,
all of them.
all of this is bent light.
I'm hollering down the hall
for a little bit of insight.
but why though?
zygote to high hopes.
it's hopeless.
it isnt though.
Written by
B E Cults
30/M/hendersonville tn
(30/M/hendersonville tn)
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