The concealment this poisoned dome has entrapped me,
Unable to break through the epidermis that burns with longing for a functioning system underneath.
My soul aches for organs that produce and have had no encounter of overuse.
Is it greedy of me to crave full functioning anatomy when my heart still pumps blood and swallows oxygen?
YOU ARE READING
My shitty poetry diary
PoetryI write shitty poetry that I love and I upload it sometimes.
