"constriction" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
My creativity has created this creation.
The outcome of my creation reflects only to the Creator.
The inner Narrator narrates a repetitive monologue.
Believe me, I've seen the films, and I've read that ******* blog.
Long logging of nights.
Internal.
External.
Fights.
Anger lasts.
I employed that past to take power away from fear.
Aware now of being here.
Consciousness.
Humbleness.
This doesn't come from admission.
Remission of a previous mission.
My dispositions constriction from speaking up.
**** that.
That cup.
That rig.
Spoon.
***
Drug.
Love is what I need.
Love is what I give.
Creating only a creation to love to live.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
Society moves like a bullet
And there's no way to cool it
We're not big fans of reflection
So we become slaves to deflection
Bouncing off of hard surfaces
Like limiting gun purchases
Constriction isn't part of or vocabulary
Proliferation is all we know
Watching weapon supplies grow
I live in a country
Riddled by bullets
Bullets that blast through our ****** body
Though the holes in our mind are bigger
When we can **** those we think are naughty
We become judges when we pull the trigger
But the media makes mountains out of molehills
And it is for those exaggerated reasons we ****
We are stuck in a bullet storm
When TV advertises bullet ****
This helps make bullets the norm
So we treat mass shootings with a familiarity
Because we can't acknowledge the only similarity
Is obviously the gun
We're blinded by the sun
Of defense contractors
They're negative reactors
When we purpose a change
The conversation they rearrange
By firing in every possible direction
This is the aforementioned deflection
And it works
You can tell because people are dying
Or standing in the street crying
Or watching the news sighing
Bullet time has wooed us
Bullet crimes have moved us
There are people who gain wealth
From our diminishing health
They hold society on their rope
And the only way we can cope
Is to ****** that rope from their greedy grasp and pull it
But that's hard to do while being punctured by bullets
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
Please come and find me.
Playful whispers in the dark.
Who am I calling?
I suppose...
My baby,
Can I call you baby?
O sweet lullabyes in the night,
Hold me in mild constriction.
Squeeze a little bit tighter, love.
I don't know how much time I have left.
Delusional!
Alone on the vacuum.
Scratching at air for any oxygen my depraved lungs can find,
Suffocating on your love,
Choking on your divinity.
Oh darling,
My sweet crimson lover
Dancing on the bridge of death at the break of dawn,
You swing me in your arms,
Tight tongue behind your violent grin,
Your hair grows stars, and your arms bend time,
my fatal partner in a tango to the edge of the earth.
Heartless as you torture me,
Wrench my soul playfully,
Foolishly and ignorantly,
Pulling my strings.
Enacting
autopilot daydreams
Painting mindless patterns
On an inky black sky,
Orange slices on existential beach
Sparkling warm coast,
The cosmos like a bright sunny day above.
Bitter ashes mix and churn with the sand,
I'm sinking,
Quickly,
Help me!
But you just watch.
And I sink until I hit the bottom
And there I lie,
Falling asleep to as my grief fills the ocean.
The zodiac locked fate,
Fish and Virgins! Fish and Virgins!
Poets and failures,
Academics and frauds,
Spring and summer to autumn and madness,
My eternal indigo diary,
My blueberry lipstick,
My lavender kiss.
Leaving light stains on my love-lorn letters,
Mailed to you on Sunday,
Delivered along the Milky Way.
Waiting emptily,
In an empty white asylum,
With an empty mind,
Waiting for you,
My answer,
My meaning,
My red and blue jumper.
Not standing up to stretch,
But sitting still,
Letting my bones grow stiff,
To creak under my weight,
Like an old back porch,
Made for a pair of old lovers,
Desolate,
Withered by neglect,
Empty.
A pointless pray for solace,
In hope you will come,
My prince of waves,
My fifth science,
My escape from this never ending sporadic spiral down into the murky, dusty, purple fog of asinine and inane.
My peace of mind.
My baby.
Can I call you baby?
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
Beginning, aware, darkness, discomfort, fear, constriction, fear, emerge, shaken, washed, fear, breathe, cry, cleansed, wrapped, warmth, cry, awakened, opened, blinding, pain, cry, cuddled, warmth, safe, sleep, awake, hungry, she, need, love, them, those, bed, home, play, learning, friends, fun, joy, her, desire, love, pride, fulfillment, union, us, we, baby, life, accomplishment, dying, fear, memories, anxiety, pain, fear, love, light, tunnel, blinding, receding, aware, darkness, beginning…
* *“From nothing we are born to know,
…into nothingness we all shall go,"
"A journey after gifts we give,
But before we do; -live.”* * *
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
a new face
a devil's diction
a change of pace
a gift for fiction
a brand new taste
a signed petition
all heads bowed at benediction
a very small space
a cause for friction
a high speed chase
a duty left in dereliction
a rat's race
a drug addiction
a heart misplaced
a **** conviction
a gathering place
a tight constriction
a country full of human waste
an angel dies of malnutrition
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 7:37 AM UTC
Strong spring winds and summer breezes
Only add strength to my sneezes
I cannot breathe...I'm on my kneezes
I'm only good when outside freezes
I need a kleenex now
I cannot breathe with pollen flying
I swear to god that I'm not lying
My eyes run so...I feel like crying
My chest hurts bad...I think I'm dying
I need some meds and how
I wish I lived inside a bubble
Then I'd have no breathing trouble
Can someone build one on the double?
My throat is dry and full of rubble
I need cough mixture now
I dream of snow instead of summer
My hayfever makes life a ******
I need something so I feel number
The problem is that I feel dumber
Please knock this out...kapow
Hayfever is my one affliction
My eyes and throat are full of friction
I take my meds, they're my addiction
My throat is suffering from constriction
Somebody help me ...now!!!
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
Where the lines blur, and pages end
where I cannot see a future anymore
for us
where the light and darkness come
and pass as time, here it is only grey
inside
There used to be a window where
a sparrow hid at light-crack by the sill
and sang
shrilly in the morning, he would sing
calling in the light of God, he’d sing
for us
The silence has grown thick, shaved ragged
potential, daydreams posed as promises
sharp was the resonation of our love
sharp are vile weapons and words drawn
between us now
Betrayal finds its way upon my tongue
I’d spit it out before it turns to venom
I’d have to say you’re poison to me now
left with nothing but constriction and a
failing heart
Were you my elixir, but a count of days before?
How sweet the lily of the valley’s scent
how pure is her white compilation of
forever restfulness, the peaceful trickery
and death
I’d say it’s time to lay this love to rest
Place flowers at the feet of mounds of earth
seal the wound of expecting hearts, we were
bleeding fluid prayers upon the stones
Attempting to bring the dead
Back to life
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:19 AM UTC
I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.
II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.
III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.
IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.
V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.
VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears
2.8k
____I'LL NEVER FORGET "THAT-NIGHT"___ It was 8;00PM, a Thunder and Lightening storm had just begun and what seemed like thousands of BB sized HAIL WERE PELTING the roof, making it Hard to Hear the Ringing Phone ! ! I Barked OUT a "HELLO",,,the tearful, hesitant voice on the OTHER END....CRIED OUT... " Come over quickly" She pleaded and continued with "IT'S LIKE DEMONS Have CONTROL OF HER ! ! ! ,and SHE KEEPS CRYING OUT .. AUNT BEA,,, Aunt Bea... Over and over"_______ . This was going to require a SPECIAL-EXORCISM I Stated... "I'm ON MY WAY" ! Upon my Arrival , I was greeted by a trembling,sobbing LaCretia,,claiming, "HURRY to the Library Room.,Rochelle is waiting ! !" The repeating AUNT BEAS were spoken as if Gargling... "WHAT are her Symptoms " I Queried ? IN A VERY-SLOW Determined Voice, LaCretia detailed the following,,,, "She has the BLUES, She has the BLAHS, She has BLEMISHES, She has BOWEL Constriction, She has been BLASPHEMING, She has BUTTOCKS Wrinkles, She has BREAST quivers and has been having BELCHING FITS "! ! ! I THREW MYSELF ON THE FLOOR IN PRAYER...Asking for the strength to DEAL-WITH these DEMONS..._____** A N D **____Here's what CAME-OUT of ROCHELLE,,,, *(#1)=BREEZEWAY-LIPS= when encountering these rascals ,it's highly suggested that WE BE UNDER Proper Cover.. (#2)= BISTRO-BREATH-LEADER= Demons that emit SPECIAL AROMATICS into the air ,that keep screaming ,,"IT'S TIME TO EAT"....(#3)=BEHEMOTH -TESTER= Demon assigned to see how BIG OF A MONSTER he can turn you in to ....*( #4)=BRAZEN-FELLOWS= Demon who attempts to Get "YOU" TO **** INTO EVERYBODYS BUSINESS, and ruin their whole day & night...! ! ! I THEN SHOUTED OUT TO **ROCHELLE ** " ARE there any more " B " DEMONS IN there ??" Rochelle, collapsed to the floor,, I promptly RUBBED-IN the BROWN SHOE POLISH into the soles and heels of feet,,*** FOREVER-BLOCKING ***__" B " DEMONS , the ONLY-ENTRANCE to our BODIES .._______ Rochelle ,with a new found strength, lifted herself from the floor, Gingerly grasped my hand, Pulled me "VERY-CLOSE" . KISSED me with a FERVOR , THAT I CAN "TASTE" TO THIS very-day... I bid LaCretia and Rochelle "GOOD-NIGHT",, AND FOUND MYSELF "WHISTLING" and "THINKING" as I walked to my Vehicle.... "The Demons are increasing their activity ! ! I MUST "BE-PREPARED" for the NEXT-CALL_____PERHAPS FROM * Y O U * ??___
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 9:06 AM UTC
#
*Subdued, into a constriction;
Young adolescent spirits
were meant to grow..
meant to breathe.
The "Fires of Hell"
are the doings of man
based on the fears of man
and the need to control.
Little child, running wild
"Forever" is a stick
to beat you down
(Until the wild within you
no longer makes a sound)
It is for Freedom's sake
that you have now been
set free, child*
. . .
*In the "name" of the Father,
you were first
thrown to the ground
Yet.. it is
in the Name of the Father
also
that Love came to town.*
#
Aug 1, 2023
Aug 1, 2023 at 10:47 AM UTC
Their utopia is ignorant bliss
Emotionless society,
emotionless existence
the'll be no need, or wanting variety
Ticking down time, till our slow demise
Give us a dose of reality
with a dose of nonsense
spiraling out into insanity
An odorless place of nothingness
Apathy is so extremely easy
Beauty surrounding everything filthy
Perfection is just an opinion
Contradiction or nonfiction
Fictional characters with friction addiction
Pain's constant. constant constriction
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 5:18 AM UTC
Everyone dies
Story’s always the same
I just wish I could tell it
Some new, different way
To revivify life
With a vivid description
Instead of this atmosphere’s
Toxic constriction
Malnourishment kitchen
An infant mortality
Failure to listen
To self-absorbed, carbon-based
Standard emission
Way passed overfishin’
For likes on the social de-human condition
Automaton autobahn
Trickle down neocon
For-profit prison bomb
Boomin’ like radical
Islamic martyrdom
Unemployed masses
Of back of the classes
The masking of innocent
Voices in ashes
An **** of power
And greed wretches *****
Mother Earth out to fuel
Their big engines of war
An insatiable thirst for more
Curdled blood screams
As I rot to the Corps
Of America’s Dreams
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
Slide to Unlock
When inspiration is imprisoned,
insight,
a crime-of-no-passion victim,
strangled by codification,
clothed in a prison uniform,
where uniform be another word for a
poet's death sentence.
When dream interruptus,
is a nightly altercation,
a hellacious sensation,,
rolling of the dice,
rewarding the dreamer
with an not-so-good ending to his
falling sensation,
or, for an old school type (me),
the nightmare worst:
A world sans punctuation!
The truth about what haunts you,
in the valley of dried bones grows whiter,
even Vishvaksena and his armies
helpless, cannot eradicate.
Then, your iPad reminds:
"Sir, sometimes you have to
Slide to Unlock!"
Slide to unlock the aggravations,
Let it out with disregard,
Let us know how you feel
When the constriction in the throat
From the things you can't say
Stops making you choke.
Truth is out of style,
common decency is a phrase
unused
or just abused.
The only difference between liar and fair,
a single letter and a
rearrangement of the facts
to suit yourself.
So I like you fine,
I like you better even,
now that it's ok to slide
beneath the fielder's tag
and get in your face and
unlock what rumbling around
in the ruins of my psyche,
ruminations about this and that,
released with a flourish and a rich
***** you!
But I like it, like you best
when in the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness,
it's ok for me to politely inform you
to fk off!
So,
I do declare myself
unlocked
and in your face
booked!
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
he is my demented extension
twin menace from another dimension
an entity of an inner dissension
committing sins too grim to mention
residing deep inside
a dividing of my mind
i can't find nowhere to hide
i'm fighting the undefined
he is my conflicted cognition
me and him are a different depiction
i don't fit this inflicted condition
his misery is my living constriction
residing deep inside
a dividing of my mind
i can't find nowhere to hide
i'm fighting the undefined
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
Vast, empty, midnight hour,
hunchbacked lampposts glaring over parasitic black earth
choking its host.
A parking lot,
an ecosystem’s blemish—
hot tar seeping into the pores of the earth
like a stubborn blackhead in a lip line.
When no cars burrow into the blackened hide
like lice
the great absence of life
is an atrocity.
I imagine myself skateboarding across the tier
as the small town cops
watch languidly with vague interest—
A skateboarder’s paradise
where wheels and accomplice minds roll across celestial barriers
blasting infinite pulses
into the microcosm.
What greasy punks have their mother’s van parked here,
huddling by the heat vents
and jerking off into a Pringle’s can?
Empty parking lot
looks like a cemetery
filled to the brim
where headstones meld
over a mass grave—
delineated by white lines,
the apparitions of vehicles and their hosts
haunt the frozen space.
Another horrible excuse
to waste land,
a wasteland in and of itself
where Tom Eliot saunters aimlessly
and buries the dead.
The saddest sight to behold,
this vacuous parking lot
littered with stray shopping carts,
phantasmal plastic bags,
gum splotches,
***** stains,
candy wrappers,
cigarette butts,
used condoms,
lonely cops
and patient drug dealers,
ambulant skaters,
tired punks,
bored teenagers,
somnambulists,
stumbling drunks,
hunchbacked ***** lights
prying for life beneath its sallow gaze—
The air encapsulated within the perdition
stifling,
the pavement below stifling,
a constriction only visible
when emptied of its contents.
A cop wakes from their choking nightmare gasping
to find themselves trapped,
****** in this parking lot
where the walkie-talkie buzzes
with the weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The warehouse store
looming above the waiting room
lifeless, silent, dark countenance—
Big Brother sees all in the gaping maw.
Cascading before me,
stretching towards the highway passing by,
waiting for the panorama to finish scrolling,
the treadmill to cease its cycle—
all the while lamenting life’s absence
and reveling in the potentiality it possesses.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
Constriction
So tight that it is suffocating my conviction
I can feel the knot, but my eyes can not find the chain
Is it around my neck, heart, or brain
Hysteria is dripping from my pores
That god **** anchor is dragging me to the ocean floor
Where is it tethered
Why am I breaking
This isn't even the worst storm I've weathered
My heart quakes to the sound of the deck the chain is raking
Rapidity
I'm being consumed by my own stupidity
Grip my hands even if the fingers you clinch crack
Because once I go under, I'll never come back
To whom am I even giving this commmand
You are back in the forest loving the land
Needed elsewhere was your love, you had no room left to care
For that reason is why this is my burden to bare
Sinking
Oxygen fleeting, only a few moments left of thinking
No hope of those tender hands reaching me
Endless gravity escorting me to the abyss
Only regret is that we couldn't share one last cup of tea
Stay ignorant of my fate because I am nothing of worth to miss
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
The crisp sounds
of the trail
the pure nature
the peace of it all
yet
A headache that was too much to bare
made my nose drip blood
and taint some purified leafs
Guilt began to strangle me
I picked up the two stained leafs
the leafs illuminated the color red
against its dark brown canvas
my nose was still bleeding
The crisp sounds were shuttering about
I fall to my knees
with the leafs in hand
I look up to the branched covered sky
and think
Guilt
the feeling tightens around my neck
and my wrists
making me let go of the leafs
the pressure in my skull made the blood from my nose spew
the constriction grew stronger
and stronger
as I fall to my side
and grasp for one last breathe
i think
Guilt
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
I wish i studied anatomy
so that id know
this feeling in my chest
this tight comforting constriction
But you
made it clear
that what i was feeling
was love
and you taught me
all i needed to know.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
I don't want
To break with you.
Can't we still be babies
In a tub,
Tattling to our mums;
Watching our worlds end,
And still falling asleep as friends?
I want to still be
The angle-face good one,
To your fantastically beautiful spiky one,
But you see, with age,
Comes bitchiness and a sense of
Self respect.
I never had that before
Around you.
Oh, I was your good little dolly,
Darling of your heart
But you like to beat that muscle well,
Don't you?
Much harder than necessary.
So why then
Do you think that
This constriction and skipping of a beating
Was a surprise attack of the heart?
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
The deepest depths of our lungs
have been deprived of oxygen
for so long
that we cannot remember what is like
to breathe,
deeply and unhindered by
this binder
as the constriction threatens to
collapse the cavity of our chest.
Willingly, we trade our breath
for the exquisite, piercing pain
that we quickly come to associate with
peace of mind
and freedom
because it means the reflection of our silhouette
finally matches the physique our
dysphoria has been telling us
we should have had
our whole lives.
In time, this addiction festers and
we bind longer and more often as
our bodies grow weaker and
our minds more chaotic until,
despite the destruction,
we cannot bear to take them off
and face the truth
written in our curves.
The pain is at one with us now.
We endure, if only to be able to
run our hands longingly down
our flattened chests
as we wait, hoping that,
one day,
we will finally be able to learn
what it is like to
breathe again.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:20 PM UTC
Their utopia is ignorant bliss
Emotionless society,
emotionless existence
the'll be no need, or wanting variety
Ticking down time, till our slow demise
Give us a dose of reality
with a dose of nonsense
spiraling out into insanity
An odorless place of nothingness
Apathy is so extremely easy
Beauty surrounding everything filthy
Perfection is just an opinion
Contradiction or nonfiction
Fictional characters with friction addiction
Pain's constant. constant constriction
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
bitten is the enemy
with fists of a smitten entity
it's a vision of my tendencies
a constriction of my identity
I play with snakes
slither into misery
hiss to me a mystery
fitting the skin of slippery
bitter is this venom's history
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC