#array
consuming chocolate happens to grant
a more therapeutic, enlightening
experience than any counselor
has given you. the sweets
melt into your tastebuds in a
vast array of decadent
flavors, but the remedy
for your heartache is shattered
just moments after the candy is
devoured. soon,
the bathroom is decorated
in earthy browns, chunks
of violet, lines of indigo,
sunset orange lumps, and
snippets of
incapacitated self-esteem
among spots of your own
red blood because
you need to feel
empty.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
Meeting the foul faced fiend & foe we call death.
Lurking about looking for souls, a collector in the truest sense.
Mortals can be persistent,pondering away subsistence.
From death breaths life, a rotting coexistence.
There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance
Gandering at the reaper we can see life, and reflect
We may see many worlds, life in the blink of an eye, right before our death.
Try not to inject your morals for the minds you infect.
Is there ever really a time when there's absolutely nothing left?
In the world of your mind you must be the architect.
the worlds crumbling down. Your mind is yours to *****
There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance
The dead flower has more power than your wilted soul.
My knife has more life to watch death grow.
That broken glass a stones throw. You are Building up a rebels soul.
There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance
Nothing but bones. Such a gorgeous array. The splendor of existence.The amusement of resistance, and the foul faced fiend we call death.
Looking for souls. Morality they say.....
Mortals can be persistent.
pondering away subsistence.
Gandering at death we see life and reflect
Try not to inject your morals, minds you infect.
Is there ever a time when there's nothing left?
In the world of your mind, be the architect.
The dead flower has more power than your wilted soul.
My knife has more life to watch death grow.
That broken glass, stones throw. Building up a rebels soul.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 5:56 AM UTC
You aggravate an array of ways
Not listening to anyone
Have to correct everyone always
To you fight is never done
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 5:11 AM UTC