The thought of celebration takes a lot of energy
You must've passed on your Christmas glum to me
I wish it was next October already
But really I wish it was over already
There's no time or place I think I could stand
No people or books that meet my demands
A pattern of rise and fall sporadic and scarce
There's really nothing to be done no matter who cares
Because when you're too far gone their hugs become prickly
Lies with a smile since no one wants to hear of a body that's sickly
They fight for your ears, your eyes, and your hips
To hear their woes, blink fondly, love vastly, sink ships
I wish they could see the cracks around your mask, your facade
That you would pry it off and show them a crown filled with rot
Tread lightly, speak soft, for they know nothing of
The Persephone growing time in her garden of mud
Dec 7th 2019 - August 17th 2020
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Learning
PoetryShe's a working progress. - Part II: are you ready? you're here. Second collection of vent(?) poetry. Sometimes posts on other sites as @alessandro Cover created with stock photos and Snapseed
