same called it a halo
but I knew it to be
my crown of thorns
it lies upon my mane of demons
and my mane, ratted and tangled,
struggles to pull free from my crown
the thorns cut through my skin
the blood seeps within
my soul escapes
through the holes of my skull
and what am I left with?
the flesh and blood
of a corpse
bound to die
YOU ARE READING
Gypsy
Poetrya poetry collection "Gypsy souls aren't meant to stay in one place; they're meant to wander. I got tired, bored, and depressed in the place that I was at. Change was the only option. So I packed up my soul in a suitcase and left."
