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Apr 2014
Our choice of poison is devotion,
too much: inebriated.
too little: insufficient.
Our choice of diction, susceptible,
an anomaly: dissected in a lab table.
Poked by: forceps wielded by
gloved hands.
There is no mystery to our misery,
because the venom of our loneliness
is a composition of our aesthetics.
I do love to analyze poems, however I disagree with some that there is one single meaning to a poem.
Ady
Written by
Ady  21/F
(21/F)   
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