"inffected" poems
The makings-
all man-made illusions
Artificial lights
that imtitate my insides,
and they're hollow
like these ****** holes in my head.
When I die,
I want to stay here.
It's the only place my soul has ever felt safe.
The only place I truly fit.
I belong.
It cradles my existence.
I am property...
*"The ***** of morbid light"*
Wrapped up
in it's blinding,
beautiful energy
I'm the cherry inside of the emptiness.
Contribution to completion.
This is where I thrive...
In dead silence and isolation.
Fueled by adverse thoughts,
I ******
bend
and **** my mind
as my ink tube spits black -
Pure sinister damage.
I lick the pages.
kiss the letters.
and embrace the constant supply.
Call it a soul-sucking abyss if you'd like -
I'm still alive.
Dancing in this inffected nature,
getting drunk on filthiness,
sleeping around with insane company
and waking up with all types of diseases.
But I'm not afraid...
I'm inspired.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC