i lay here tired in my wake
every close of my eyes bringing something indescribably deep toward the edge of my grave
muddled, brown and smelling of dirt and dirt
and humid air kicking in
what will I get out of this world that spins ever so slowly
the onism provokes me
spreading through my body like a disease of feeling too much feeling
for goodness sake
i can't just give it a break
screw the lid on tight
a twinkling star up there I just know is saying in the middle of the night again, a little "it's you again"
no it's plucking at my inards
so bazaar
exploit me
reveal to me the lost secrets of the past and present and everything in between
spit me out in the old body of mine
that piece of shit that was full of werifesteria
full of a idiosyncrasies
spit the words up
after shoving the fist fulls of grief and reliefs
down deep... down deep
till it's left to whelve in the unsafe spaces
places the darkness still creeps
i invite you to accept this invitation,
to burst out in flames if you have to
and that's just got to be everything
right?
[no sign-off]
YOU ARE READING
pieces of me
Poetry"I have written you down, you will live forever." ~ A poet from Bastille . . . . . . . . Excerpts of a busy bee 🐝 [i write purposely without capitalization, and am not worried much about having ideal structure. i am a happy potato, please...
