right now,
everything is perfectly flawed,
but perfect nonetheless.
sure,
it'd be nice,
to muster old feelings,
dust off the melancholy mantlepiece,
and write depressing phrases,
destined to be plastered across a black and white tumblr gif.
sure,
it'd be nice if I could capitalise upon my suffering,
percolate it through my poetic prowess,
and pump out piercing, relatable poems,
infused with cigarettes, cheap whiskey, and authentic Converse sneakers.
but today i'm not feeling it.
i guess i'll have put with being content.
damn.
come back tomorrow?
YOU ARE READING
n.i.m.b.u.s.
Poetrywords that pour from the veins of the sky. a collection of joyous, soul-crushing melodies, set to the tune of the desert-seaside breeze. //#539 in Poetry [2016.07.10]
