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Dark n Beautiful Nov 2014
What is poetry? Is it a uniform thing?
Or a kaleidoscope dream images
Of a one- man team
a dimension of systematic thinking
His metaphors, his musical mode or
his original mistakably literal meanings

If I came to you and say
I see the love in your baby blue eyes
It reminds me of that sunny day.
When the clouds was still and I fire up my libido
Did I really fire up my libido or was the love in your eyes really blue
Even as you said to me
“I am going to **** you tonight with my loving
Was that nonliteral
Or one of your nonsensical fuss
Poetry is your own lovely way of
Woven out your most inner thoughts
I pondered killing the one I hated most
The horrifying villain inside of me
I never let it show outside my skin
But if I didn’t disappear it would win

The creature looked just like me
Perhaps why I hated it most
Because it was who I am
But could never let anyone see

I wanted to **** it before it became me
I tried to fight it, yet it engulfed my existence
By trying to ****** the devil inside myself
I ended up destroying the only bits I loved

I am gone. That was me, I miss them.
All I have become is the monster I tried to end
Shrinking my externality would decrease the inside
Or perhaps that’s what I thought would happen

Could I compensate for the nonliteral space
The space and existence I seem to waste
With my voice, my thoughts, my soul
Could I force myself not to exist at all?

In a quest to shed my shell
I shed only the neutrality of myself
The villain still strongly resides
It wears my face and now it shrinks me too

It devours them, the me I love
There is so little left to know
Completely entirely possessed
By the thing I tried to suppress

I am withering away
If you know me, you don’t
Just the devil inside masquerading
Think I can come back? I probably won’t.

— The End —