I'm a cup that's been filled to the brim
A boiling anger that's playing with the edge
Heated and stirred til I've no time
It's spilt, but it was just the start
Like a tidal wave
It all came pouring out
Like someone had tipped the glass without any care
But as it goes away, it enter the water cycle
And goes back pouring down, with a deeper red
A firey red, a sun-like hatred
That continues to fill the edge
YOU ARE READING
Hopeless Poet
PoetryI write about the world. Her, him, the places of meaning, aggression, compassion, or human nature. TRIGGER WARNING !! some poems talk about s*elf harm and su*cide. Please do not read if you are sensitive to such topics. I will try to put a trigger...
