Quick Quote:
"To experience real agony is something hard to write about, impossible to understand while it grips you; you're frightened out of your wits, can’t sit still, move, or even go decently insane."
-Charles Bukowski,
The People Look Like Flowers at Last
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Your wrath is the most vile.
A necromancy indeed!
I cannot breathe, I cannot talk,
I choke, as never have I.
All the memories, of the golden days
Revolve around me,
Like the nine planets to the sun
And yet, you do not feel?
The shooting stars prance across the sky
So much to wish for, yet none could I,
For heart is weak, you're in my mind.
You leave, destroy and not look behind.
I'm not heartbroken,
The pain is not a refugee in mine.
I'm the paranoid, again,
In whom you conspired a demise.
My soul was the vast ocean of love
Where you rested deep within,
And the tides couldn't bother you,
Yet, your wish for a something new
The picture on the wall
Shatter upon the tiles- the memory.
Did it not instigate rage in my balls?
For deep inside, I feel a surging tsunami.
I am a madness, o' coldheart,
This cannot be undone: never.
So take refuge, before I wash away
In the non-existence, of my lover.
And when this cataclysm recedes,
The sun of clarity, will dry up the world.
Time shall begin again, over again
When your essence fades forever...
Fades forever -- Oblivious...
YOU ARE READING
Transcendence
PoetryHello, there readers! For a quick introduction to my work would suit its subtitle- 'A Collection of Scattered Feelings', I have maintained no fixed mood, so that my dear readers may see beyond a specific feeling, to feel it. The moods vary form sli...
