summer is
a cloud drifting
through my home
summer lifts itself
into my vision
summer asphyxiates me
and leaves me still
i can't put down the gloves
i can't spit out the mouthguard
i rest in a bed of fire
where i cook
every night
a tumultuous event is as simple
as anything
not during summer though
summer
is the horned and trident bearing
devil on my shoulder
distraction is my angel
anger isn't something
i enjoy harbouring
i hope you know that
i am not a walking firecracker
i am a bag of coals
writings of blues and pinks
can't cut me open
like they used to
my shirt is sticking to
my back
i can hear the timer ticking
i must run before
i blow
YOU ARE READING
flecks of charisma
Poetry(old bad poetry don't read pls ahhh) flecks of charisma is a quintessential guide to not knowing how you're feeling, not knowing how to deal with it, but knowing how to adjust your life around it. some days are tough and some days can elongate into...
