there is warmness in the depths of me
gliding so effortlessly to a calm beneath
a sea so plush in its vow to be
more of what we missed to see
i've sent hunting parties to find the part
of me i lost in the vietlay in my car
like vouyeristic masochism in my heart
upside from the lack of color from afar
it's a mission from Brother Joe to leave it
from a point in our minds where it sticks
like paint that has yet to dry on the bricks
of a martyr's hell and a god's trick
my faith is on a boat in the middle of oceans
surging riptides try to rip off in commotions
to make a believer in my commotion's motion
the sea is a ferver's skin with no lotion
ash in our bones like a fire
wanting strength in a miss of a liar
wishing sleepless nights next to the myre
till we find hope in our flight of trial
watching the world depend on our time
as it ends with credits rolling on prime
it is endless messes of true crime
till we see past the glass limes
cherry flavoured regret in my head
wanting a whim of my life when i bed
i'll be okay when my heart leaves dread
so i'll find life in a foreigner's death
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
