Power is
a dark and menacing curse,
a poison that crawls across the skin
and consumes oneself with danger.
Power is
a blade that slices through reasoning,
a sword that is pulled out of stone
and chooses its possessor.
Power is
the blood spilled onto rocks,
not caring who it haunts,
pushing oneself over the cliff of sanity.
Power is
the thorns on roses,
the bright moon in the dark sky,
and the wolf that knocks on Grandma's door.
2.8.2024
YOU ARE READING
pieces of me: poems
PoetryTo the girl twenty-four hours ago, crying into her pillow and questioning what comes next, you'll be okay. "pieces of me" is a collection of thoughts that make up who I am, inspired by either fictional or real emotions and experiences. Through poetr...
