"tennants" poems
I'm not a good person
I'm not that bad,
But I don't merit enough
To wear the cape.
I'm caught in a contingency
Of expression
More so riding pale lines
Of old boundaries of morality
Good and Evil have become words
Demise and Salvation interchange
And I'm left to dig,
Searching for my soul under the rubble.
Chuckling and weeping are devoured
By silence in corridors where tennants tiptoe
Feeling and hearing the ominous nothing.
I am the nothing.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC