9/6/2021
No human is worthy of putting me through hell
-that is an honor only my very own mind has.
It is its job and it does so well,
I can tell that it is so from the constant escalating impact.
No human could possibly make me feel unfortunate more than my own mind does
-as if it's a constant struggle mustering up a another breath, wondering if it will be my last.
No human soul is able to ruin me
for this is indeed my mind's very own task.
And yet no human is worthy of walking me through heaven
-that is an honor only my very own mind has.
It is its job and it does it so well,
I can tell that it is so from the happiness that overflows my soul.
No human could possibly make me feel as blessed as my own mind does
-as if I'm an infinite being, with no limitations and death just a badly told joke.
No human soul is able to heal me
for this is indeed my mind's very own task.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ
Poetry𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨 (n.) 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘤 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯; 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘯 Poems posted daily, for every day of the year. Works of an undefined theme with a touch of fantastical elements as well as a healthy dose of r...
