"mortification" poems
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Prepubescent voices
crawl back and forth
A squeaking, scratching chorus of topics
unbeknownst to the speaker
Meaningless sounds produced just to be heard
Drowned out by the unfortunately undeafening silence
of headphones plugged into nothing
Misdirected words, hidden insults, skewed meanings
Subtle bullying pretends to be older and wiser
when it is terrified of new things
Gay, **** emo, **** laughter
Because the body is hilarious
Crowded faces: authority is buried under the splotchy noise
Enter swear here _ _ _ _ _ _ _.
Because ****** is an address
And “You have no friends” is just kidding
“Go **** yourself” is love
Outward rudeness to the man who puts himself though it daily
An example for the even less learned
7-year-old cursing
Because ******* means nothing to them
or anyone else.
Sit down because there are seats
Look in my eyes, taken back immediately
stupidity realized in a golden split second of mortification
Split second passes now with more phantom confidence
One by one skip, saunter, slither down three steps
Yellow noise recedes not fast enough
Obnoxious created by too much television
And its weird to be gay, and gay to be weird
Unacceptable open windows to normality
Jack my swag
Kindly,
Will you please shut the f* * * up.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
After comparing lives with you for years
I see how I’ve been losing: all the while
I’ve met a different gauge of girl from yours.
Grant that, and all the rest makes sense as well:
My mortification at your pushovers,
Your mystification at my fecklessness—
Everything proves we play in separate leagues.
Before, I couldn’t credit your intrigues
Because I thought all girls the same, but yes,
You bag real birds, though they’re from alien covers.
Now I believe your staggering skirmishes
In train, tutorial and telephone booth,
The wife whose husband watched away matches
While she behaved so badly in a bath,
And all the rest who beckon from that world
Described on Sundays only, where to want
Is straightway to be wanted, seek to find,
And no one gets upset or seems to mind
At what you say to them, or what you don’t:
A world where all the nonsense is annulled,
And beauty is accepted slang for yes.
But equally, haven’t you noticed mine?
They have their world, not much compared with yours,
But where they work, and age, and put off men
By being unattractive, or too shy,
Or having morals—anyhow, none give in:
Some of them go quite rigid with disgust
At anything but marriage: that’s all lust
And so not worth considering; they begin
Fetching your hat, so that you have to lie
Till everything’s confused: you mine away
For months, both of you, till the collapse comes
Into remorse, tears, and wondering why
You ever start such boring barren games
—But there, don’t mind my saeva indignatio:
I’m happier now I’ve got things clear, although
It’s strange we never meet each other’s sort:
There should be equal chances, I’d’ve thought.
Must finish now. One day perhaps I’ll know
What makes you be so lucky in your ratio
—One of those ‘more things’, could it be? Horatio.
3k
These charcoal dark shadows hang beneath eyes of carbon blue.
Carrying the memories of sinister scenes, washed clean, but stained with the salt of regret.
Shame.
Mortification.
The sorrows of living within the frame of some unseen stranger's lack of obligation- irreverent and unattending to the consequences of unrestrained pleasure.
In the background, the slick black vapor slides back into illusion's nest, unfound. Within this restless cradle, ever-raging, silent battles fought.
That daily dose which nearly burned and boiled and blotted them out.
Never triumphant.
A pawn in a profiteer's pyramid scheme.
A beast in bloom, bound to eternal flowering.
Poverty empowering the privileged hand. Our death, stretched far and wide still tortures and taunts and tears us from peace- day after day, week after week, and year after year.
Trapped in a cage whose bars are not there. Whose locks have no key.
We scream and cry til out voices break and our tonsils bleed, but no one on the other side can hear.
We play our part for family and friends but deep down inside we know how this ends. We pretend to go on, but we know we are dead.
We are victims of big pharma and our ribbon is red.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
Let's all go
to Damnation Island.
Let's all go to
the lunatic's ball.
We'll have
amusements, and
dancing, and the
magic lantern.
The stupefaction
is for us all.
The poor will
be there,
hungry
and tired.
The poor will
be there,
dresses in rags.
We'll all have fun
on Damnation Island.
The degradation is
for us all.
The criminals
are on
Damnation Island.
They're dancing and
killing at the
lunatic's ball.
The criminals love
Damnation Island.
The mortification is
for us all.
If you go to
Damnation Island,
if you dance at
the lunatics ball,
you might stay on
Damnation Island,
there's a good chance
you'll sell
your soul
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 1:11 PM UTC
These ides have kept me thus far
Sustained, am I, eternal
By their food of self-sacrifice
The jester’s tasty wine
Imbibing insults wrought by fool’ry
Again, reciting the dirge for pride
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Despite the ru’nation
Hoist! Ye ru’nous hands
My repute in mortification
A fool by their and my demands
I see my shame, long shadow cast
In light of sobriety
Ignominy and truth of me
Divorc’d n’er they be
Still taste of cheap liquors, distilled society
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Full knowledge, have I
The disservice I do
Only time will heal the wound
To shy away, acceptance is
A lovely balm on par
My image in tatters, though brazen I be
The ides have kept me thus far
Let them laugh, for I know they do
Not to me, but within and among
I am your entertainment
The source of all your jeers
My life, a blund’ring show
I am an actor, my blight for years
A part to play, it’s pleasing though
To thrive upon your mocking and time
Comforting knowledge, that
A fixture, am I, your Thalia
The ides have kept me thus far
Erected austerity, enigmatic walls
Fortifications around me
Charged to keep the chaos in
My heart, it truly calls
I am not so noble
As the sun will attest
Know me as the ascetic,
See the shrieking eccentric,
Know me as the philosopher
See my wit pathetic,
Know what is outside is purely for show
See that is internalized, is
So ********* antithetic
Each and every time
I hide my face in shame
My pride and my name, my actions did thus mar
But I will heal, I always do
The ides have kept me thus far
This is my mantra, an empty cadence
A mist to latch on to
With every refrain of wretched debauchery
Each weekend played anew
Though I stay to bear the howl
Of my dissonant, ugly hymn
I listen to the hardened ones
Their failures but a din
I wish to change the thing I am
At least to those who know
I’ve heaved the chance to the icy mar
Onto the cracking floe
I feel the daggers of humiliation
Plucking at each stitch
I’ll just smile as though I like it
For in effect I do
But it’s becoming unbearable
The walls beginning to bow
Imperceptible, if my resolve she lasts
Though this is nothing new
But I’ll just grin and carry on, for
The ides have kept me hitherto.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
As the hail makes love to the streets
I query its vendetta with I
What had I done to be defamed
By such unforeseen chagrin
The sound ‘tis the ****** of the horizon
Echoes that of a violinist scarred by ****** mortification
The harmony plays in quite a lovely manner
Could hook one quickly if not careful
Appeased I sit in a wooden, black chair
And saturate in fine rock refrains
A pacifying compensation if I may say
A scripted version of hell
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
the death
of self, exhaled, borne upon
wafts of
air, and
I, with my self-conscious
prose and pretensions
of intellectualism,
and I, dreaded I -
there is a beauty in
ideology; even wastrelism,
being the muck of the earth and
much reviled by Proper Gentlemen,
has its allure and adherents
those disciples of Dionysus,
bacchanalia becoming banal by
sheer repetition:
***** ***** ***** shotgunned beers, and then-
TEQUIIIILA!!
crowed at the top of their lungs,
memory expunged by
hepatic-processed organic compounds.
of course, these mannerisms are simply
beneath you, disdainfully
catalogued by keen eyes:
no, your form of forgettance
is much more forceful, much less
fanciful and romanticized:
your amnesia is
absolute,
it required nothing less than
total dedication, mortification,
death of self as you
expatiated lusts, loves,
aught but ambitions remain,
and now, you have triumphed:
you stand solitary, skyscrapers
shining for your personal
pleasure, yet you can find,
none.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
Midnight dream
inconceivable desires.
The denizens of a simple town
In a world of complication.
I want, I need to find
a primitive land far beyond.
Far-fetched, chimerical.
My decree, to search
high and low,side to side.
For a place where I can be free.
From stipulation that seems to be
A birthright, a curse made out to seem like
a gift, as though we asked for this?
oh Mortification, all I ask is to be
unlatched from this leash
the world so generously strapped
around my neck. That is my
Magnificent Obsession.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
My Darling, My Dearest
I sink to the dirt,
My regrets swirl around my body like a brides wedding dress.
White lace, virginal unsoiled regrets lay about me lazily-
biting my ankle, scratching up my legs to be held.
My Cherished Treasure,
I will carry my torment like an old man carries his walking stick
Gnarled with time and miles,
before any step I will take-
My regret will mark the path.
And I will walk for all of time with my walking stick. I will walk until I bend over in a broken bridge of bones, all the while letting my regret lead me onward.
My Beloved,
I will wallow in the mud of my sorrows and grief
I will roll and dry, caking dirt on my belly-
like the beast I have become.
My Beautiful,
The wounds that mortification of the flesh will produce-
will be sorry attempts to understand your pain.
The whip braided in tight thick leather
but I can never cut deep so I might
produce enough depth so instead will I bleed-
another sin, another crime!
I cannot feel your suffering-can only guess at the depth.
Oh the endlessly black waters of your sorrow!
I hold my breath, stones piled deep in my pockets.
I dive, I dive...wanting, needing this sacrifice.
But **** this survivalist in me. My lungs betray me-
sputter and cough.
I inhale my water of my sins and breathe them deep so I may drown and
free you from the shackles of my crimes.
My Cherished one, my Shining one-
Forgive this old sinner, forgive this reprobate heart.
For I love you.
When the stars exploded, when universes expanded
I loved you.
When the first blade of grass poked it's willful head above soil,
I loved you.
When first Adam kissed Eve,
I already loved you.
In the next life where you are caterpillar and
I am stump,
I love you then too, and beg you use me to reach closer the sun.
Forgive a fool his foolish ways, he knows no better
Forgive me, cherished one
and let me love you,
Let me love you as the faulted love the Divine. As the sinner loves the penance, as the child loves the stars.
Let me give you the moon, let me put it in on your lips.
So you may kiss the moon, beloved, kiss the moon.
Sahn 7/6/14
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
As a child I did not know whether it was the act itself or the knowledge that I was the receptacle for malevolence and cruelty that made me so vulnerable. At first I thought it was God's punishment for something I had done. I took an inventory, desperately seeking the deed that triggered the retribution. But I could not identify a single act. Even my accumulated errors, transgressions and unkindness’s did not exact the cost. Then I understood: if I could not isolate a deed, or pattern of deeds, commanding the punishment, it must be me. It is not what I did. It is who I was...a fundamentally, intrinsically and irredeemably bad little girl. I negotiated my adolescence and early adulthood with the mathematical symbol for "less than" (<) attached.
I would like to be able to write that I am no longer negotiating my adulthood with the same mathematical symbol attached. But that would be a lie. It is pervasive. It is formidable. And if I do not keep it contained, I am so afraid it will be debilitating….I've been down that road a time or two. At times it has enveloped me, penetrating my pores and drowning everything essential and vital inside.
Undisturbed, it is docile, sated. But aroused by even the slightest hint of beauty or strength or grace it is a painful reminder that I am...somehow...contemptible...that I am still fundamentally, intrinsically and incorrigibly...what? Flawed, imperfect & bad? You may say, "But we are all flawed and imperfect. And our flaws and imperfections make us more interesting...more truly beautiful...more human." And perhaps you are right, but this inexorable deprivation makes me somehow subhuman... less than human...permanently broken. I am a receptacle for malice.
I skillfully deflect praise directed my way, an effort to soothe the inescapable conflict inside. Moderate praise induces a subtle twinge of embarrassment; more effusive praise incites the consuming and agonizing feeling that I am irreparably damaged, hopelessly broken. It has contaminated, compromised and diminished every accomplishment, soiled every success. People sometimes tell me that I am humble and that it is an admirable trait. But the modesty and humility they identify helps me to mask the mortification stirring inside. I have gotten so good at hiding it from others that I have nearly learned to conceal it even from myself.
At least that is what it feels like...right now.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
Beneath the world of expectation
above the Hells of Satan’s lair
a body lies in mortification
and no one knows that it is there.
A ****** on a frosty evening
of lovely girl with sprightly nature
who’s only sin was of receiving
with evils own collaborator.
Innocence was wholly shattered,
deflowered just for being there,
her body beaten and so battered
and left there dead with just her stare.
Terrified, transfixed, still staring
in that direction from where it came.
A beast so vicious and uncaring,
who treated her with so much shame.
There was no offer of protection,
there was no one to lend a hand.
Just he who caused her such dejection.
Just he who placed her 'neath the land.
This girl of lovely disposition
never had time to say farewell,
was never found by expedition,
just left to rot and left to smell.
She missed a life of exploration
that night he took her life so ill.
Encircled now in forestation
beneath the soil of old land fill.
Her family sought, indeed, still seeking
in hope one day she may be found
and from her grave her soul is speaking
to all who walk above the ground.
One day she may receive response
by someone sensitive to call
someone who walks with such a nuance
that she may indeed perhaps enthral.
But until that time she lies beneath,
between the World and Satan’s lair.
Waiting for that one relief,
that all should know and all might care.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
The doctor rubbed my sore shoulder
spraying copious amounts of analgesic compound
to freeze the area
from the side of my eye I caught the
silver glint of a 6 inch needle poised
to penetrate my quivering shoulder
with cortisone
intense pain exploded through my consciousness
as the syringe fracked into the deeper regions of
my shoulder
Afterwards, while reflecting on this incident
I thought about polarities and Newton’s Law:
“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction”
The pain I had just experienced did not occur in a vacuum
Somewhere along the time continuum I’d set up that opposite
swing of the pendulum
I recollected all the intense moments of extreme and dizzying
sense enjoyment, lust and gratification
my mind has sought and indulged in with rabid satisfaction
always wanting more, restless, never content or at peace
When we examine this world, and its quintessential duality
we are confronted with extremes at every angle
Hot, cold, up, down, win, lose
We can’t have birth without death and so on
hmm…. I thought as the enlightenment bulb
went off in my head
This is why many great sages and saints
fostered a way of life that
transcended duality
Lord Buddha extolled the “Middle Path”
He described the middle way as moderation
between the excesses of carnal indulgence
and self mortification
Aristotle gave us the “Golden Mean”
“every virtue is a mean between two extremes, each of which is a vice.”
Sathya Sai Baba states:
“The object of meditation is equanimity,
the object of equanimity is samadhi (enlightenment or self realization)"
This beautiful quote by Bhagavan Baba is redolent with wisdom
and sublime beauty:
“Surrender to God and to life means the absence of duality
and being of the same nature as God.
But such a state is beyond man’s will.
Surrender is when doer, deed and object are all God.
It comes naturally to a heart filled with love for God.
God is as a spring of fresh and sweet water in the heart.
The best tool to dig a well to that inexhaustible source and
savor its sweetness, is Japa (Chanting God’s Name)
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
Self discipline
Builds self comfort
So you need not cry out
When it hurts the worst...
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
Your smile makes me laugh
‘Till the sky turns pink
And the hills in the air melt away;
Every single thing you say
Meets with comprehension
And you need not fret
For mortification because
I will always already know,
I will always recognize
Your pleasing high
Contagious to me which
Causes the deepest amusement,
It could split one’s sides.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
*They say that they don’t care if they live or die, they lie.
For when one’s dreaming while asleep, and every scene passes with a beautiful leap.
When everything’s going just fine,
but then suddenly other alarming things align.
An accident happens within your dream. Such that,
a swift rip tearing the perfect seam.
In your dream itself, you get injured.
Within a jiff your heart beat is triggered.
It beats like it would smash through your chest.
You wake up with chaotic thoughts, such unrest.
My dear You said that it doesn’t matter whether you live or die.
Do you really think it’s that easy to escape your lies?
Everyone just assumes, at times, that no one cares for them.
That’s what happens upon the mortification of your realm.
Just an advice my dear, this life is more of a blessing than a curse.*
***This universe is created, forged, perpetuated and sustained ‘for thee’.
‘Thou not’ for the Verse.***
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
The sterling stream that lines my sorrows
is never within stone's throw.
How many boulders away are you, my darling?
I yearn for you to grind my heart once more.
I need you to clip it's thoughtless wings,
for they're drooping and defeated by their lasting migration.
My heart is elephantine and my wings are hopeless
and they're abusing all of me for what is believably my eternity.
My heart is dehydrated and cotton-mouthed,
It's tongue can not satisfy, for it's fangs are before it,
serrated by the bloodshed on our floor.
I could water my floral heart,
if someone put the watering-can in my hand,
but it doesn't know how to tread tears anymore anyway.
I am not satisfied.
Nor, can I satisfy
anymore.
I'm simply coasting through shapes and figures
to pass this paused time.
I have become a clown
that does not understand mortification any longer.
It's feelings have become hidden under a white face and red lips.
My tower of prospect has been thrown to the ground,
landing where my body was planted, stuck asleep.
They all say I deserve better.
I've been searching for better,
but it broke my wings and it broke my heart
and planted me at my own crime scene
******** me.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
A masquerade, that’s my existence
I wear a pretty mask and keep my distance
Those who take notice flock to me
But it’s only my mask that they see
Afraid of my own visage, I
Embellish my façade and lie
I remain clinging to this foolish hope
That through these fallacies, I’ll cope
Tears and pain and hate stowed away
Behind a mask with a brilliant array
A careless comment knocks my mask loose
In mortification, I sob and mutter an excuse
This pathetic person cannot possibly be
The lovely mistress you thought to be me
Without my mask, I’m an evident mess
Opulent not in beauty but in stress
Avert your eyes, this is my ugly truth
The witnesses sneer, “How uncouth.”
So, I beg of you, please, I implore
Leave on my mask you so adore.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
The gift of observance comes rushing back
As half-lit skies circumvent in upheaval
Seeing the hidden guise for what we all lack
I quick deduction spawns an intent retrieval
Grasping the whole of what my peers are concealing
A half-ass attempt to make sense of these feelings
All of these words are so hollow and insignificant
Pleading a case as if they have a sense of morality
A conceded hope that ends up as a wasted expedient
The building block pieces to a straight willed society
Fixated mortification's that serves as our propriety
Keeping our relative outlook as my favorable notoriety
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
The hazy world sharpened
when myopic Maddie
got a new pair of glasses
sitting pretty on her pert nose.
Now she could discern
each leaf in a foliage,
and tell people apart
from a respectable distance.
She peered at every face,
thrilled that now she could
describe the smallest details
in case she were ever called in
to sit for a police sketch.
Smug glee turned to horror
when her wondering gaze
met quizzical stares
and she recalled
that her glasses
were transparent.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
*Buried in the walls of an abandoned house
You will find my morality, integrity and values
How can I be holy in a holocaust?
Shame has stripped away my humanity
And left me with volumes of despair
Shuttered into my wrinkled world*
Watching her smile at me from yellowed newsprint
And creased photographs in which everyone looks
The same, except for her. A haunting spirit which
Possesses even the cellulose and ink I clutch
In my trembling hands. Trophies of a brilliant life
That once snagged on a sharpened shard, began to
Unravel amidst Hope and Happiness and Honor
I flagellate myself with memories of walks and
Trips and fights. No amount of self-mortification
Is sufficient to satisfy the demons which torment
Me, nor the angels which mourn her. No penitence
Can relieve me of the yoke I'm burdened with of
Anger, Remorse, and Resentment. No purgatory
Sentence can properly prepare me for a pardon
Volumes of thought left behind in word and
Picture offer little solace to my fractured feelings
Left here to reassemble this life alone
This daunting task of overwhelming breadth
Leaves me with no answers, only the question
How can I complete the puzzle with a
Piece lost forever?
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
A simple mask
Hidden within pen and paper
Two tools
When touch establish a bond like no other
A bond able to shine light
An unceasing desolation
A final goodbye to mortification
A grand hello to jubilation
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
The tide is back in my head again.
The bottles are full, the floor is still an ocean,
And I am drunk-texting a future version of myself.
I'm telling myself about this certain type of forgiveness-
The version I tried to suppress everytime you couldn't accept it.
I gave you nothing for so long I thought you'd fall in love with at least re-opening the non-existent wounds,
And now here you are painting scars upon them and showing them to me,
And I don't know what to do and,
I'll never know what to do but,
This is where it ends,
Yes,
This is how I leave you.
The tide is back in my head again.
- I only leave you when the room is spinning.
My head is a confession booth and its like you're sinning on purpose.
Continually hurting yourself or someone else so that you can come into my memories and
try and tell me about it without saying anything at all. (I only listen to you when you're not speaking.)
I started believing in ghosts when I saw apparitions of myself smiling without knowing you existed-
I once lived with a fear of death, prayed to be immortal and to keep on finding myself hungry to know more-
Now I find myself lucky to have a day where I care more about continuing and care less about remaining stationary.
Maybe I want you to feel the pain of a sunken ship only mimicking the illusion of a boat cast on waves it no longer wants or knows how to sail-
Maybe I want you to know how it feels like to love you.
The tide is back in my head again.
I created a soundtrack for all these recent nights and it just turned into the sound of your voice repeating the secrets I dont remember telling you.
There is a drawer in my room and I've filled it with something that both creates and destroys me because
you claimed you would do both but only ended up doing the latter.
One day I'll stop being haunted by things that can't actually touch me -
One day I'll find a bottle that won't have you at the bottom of it.
But for now I have nothing else.
So, I'm poisoning myself everynight and claiming that it is self-mortification.
I cannot forgive myself but,
I have no other outlet so,
This is where it ends,
Yes,
This is how I leave you.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
Is this a punishment?
For being too proud.
Is this a mortification?
For being too happy.
Is this a sanction?
For being too cocky.
Is this a trial?
For being too cold.
Is this a comeuppance?
For being too relaxed.
Is this a penance?
For being too deep in love.
Is this a sequestration?
For believing my own lies.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC