hook of comfort
Before your homely art, my mother.
I come mysteriously crisper outside my body.
Bait me after you; let us fish.
I left the hook I can't comprehend,
another watery grace there is drowning souls.
I am tired pretending to the future.
I can't swim.
Canoe me, I left my hope and desires.
Looking. Looking. Without seeing.
My brothers are scholars in the art of killing,
but unable to master how to bleach their hearts,
They are a book with cruel characters
sweet landscapes; going backward,
and dialogues that brain-drain its readers.
Characters that will dialogue you
out of reality into their perception;
till you eat your fingers taking it for spoon
they've kissed me with the lips of their hatreds
Till I resembled a sachet of weak love.
Till voids steep me and gross my hope.
If you are a drunker, better wine will bait you.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
hook of comfort
Before your homely art, my mother.
I come mysteriously crisper outside my body.
Bait me after you; let us fish.
I left the hook I can't comprehend,
another watery grace there is drowning souls.
I am tired pretending to the future.
I can't swim.
Canoe me, I left my hope and desires.
Looking. Looking. Without seeing.
My brothers are scholars in the art of killing,
but unable to master how to bleach their hearts,
They are a book with cruel characters
sweet landscapes; going backward,
and dialogues that brain-drain its readers.
Characters that will dialogue you
out of reality into their perception;
till you eat your fingers taking it for spoon
they've kissed me with the lips of their hatreds
Till I resembled a sachet of weak love.
Till voids steep me and gross my hope.
If you are a drunker, better wine will bait you.