i am sewn up
dead still in my seat
it twists into knots
eyelids itching but hands crossed
i am locked out of this place
my own head has made me a tearaway
patches swelling terribly and coming apart
my eyes will pour out and never regrow
scarred cheeks they are so misaligned
just empty pockets on my face
nothing left of my insides
i am eviscerated and drowning in myself
the shock of a fist over a lifeless thing
i am nothing more than what i seem
unmistakable smell of rot and burning
the burning of the great great great bore in time
YOU ARE READING
my darkest mind
Poetryoh, my darkest mind, still as you incarnadine me in vain, you behold me as i fall. deeper, my darkest mind, roiling in fury, the fever you gift me, pain that befalls me, obsidian once sharp had since dulled to reveal the rectification of what used...
