18/6/2021
I have danced a macabre waltz with impossible possibilities,
hand in hand as they whisper all kinds of peculiarities,
I have courted thoughts dressed in black that tell tales of doom,
reveling in destruction and feeding off of adrenaline,
I have kissed the gathering darkness that slowly surrounds my soul,
a tender embrace making us one
and I have had keen conversations with creatures fathered by fear,
debates on the probability of my ultimate demise.
Interesting fellows all in all, but when the clock strikes twelve
the light will call for me once again,
offer me clarity and an escape from this stygian castle,
a breakout from the dark side of my brain.
YOU ARE READING
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...
