Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2023
O narcissist, would you go
above the moon, if I want to sleep
in the flames of invisible stars?

Who gives light without
pregnancy to new gods and installs
aerial temples of broken hearts?

The killing has a moon
face. I will bring corn fever to
gnaw the legs of falling truths.
Written by
Satsih Verma
133
   Mote
Please log in to view and add comments on poems