four hundred-fifty-five days before
i stumble on my words, as i hope these ideas resound to you, as a somewhat bleak gospel.
i hope these pages of long lost torment, find sanctuary in your hearts just as they did i.
i hope these poems reach you in good time, in good life, in good love.
i've written alot in my time.
three amazing poetry collections within a year of themselves, all acting out my bombarding ideas and thought and rambles.
it's been amazing to work like this.
as i enter my senior year of highschool, with all but my sanity left, i look out into the world that has housed this walking carcass that i call my body.
and i feel small.
lonely.
missing.
gone.
i feel like everything, yet simultaneously nothing.
but my words will wake up those regrets and smite them once and for all.
this is if not human
and im n.l. macnamara.
welcome home.
-n.l.
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poetrythe anthology of emotion, the passing of life, the epilogue of pure, unfiltered regret this is "if not human" poems, prose and stories from the dark
