after i heard the poem
after a couple of days
after getting it out of my head
i had a million questions running through my brain
should i say
how did the dragon find out
everything that even i don't know
it's like he has bookshelves of books
filled with my family's history,
nope, it's like he has lived with us
the sad thing is, i don't even understand
half of the poem
i'm not a witch. i'm supernatural.
just not a witch
i'm also alive. all well and alive.
not a collection of life and demise
what i have is not a curse, it's a gift
it's having an infinite imagination,
and making it come to reality.
it's not a bad thing, right?
but i do smell like death,
i am death,
and i need answers cause right now
the me that's in the poem
is not the me that i know
YOU ARE READING
artbook
Poetry// it's not something as mere as smelling colors and tasting letters, it's something like painting fish in the middle of the sky and drawing dragons in the middle of town. something like having the world as your artbook. \\
