Will my ruins continue to crumble under your palm? Oh mighty world, who named you but the people. Why outside this box in my soul does temperament fall. Why must everything burn to see the beauty of the flames. Genesis comes but always a minute too late. The flow of blood in our bodies keeps us alive but keeps you in limbo, walking on a tightrope between putrid discomfort and pure genesis. Why must love always end in loss. Why so cruel world?
The world blinked back, you're making everything fall yourself.
No I did it all for you world.
The world still moving, we never asked anything of you child.
Oh.
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Author:
MilkyRoses (
Offline) - Published: September 12th, 2023 19:42
- Comment from author about the poem: I am the creator of my problems, I am simply the only one in my own head.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
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