i am a functioning addict
my lungs breathe the same as yours
but my words are not mine
neither can be i
the ink runs off my tongue
like the blood of my son
so cold is thou to be
rife in this unknown agony
words that bleed into mine
alone or which i will never be
god, the lamb is massacr3
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
