Poetry is madness
A ritual I do, but do not know.
A night that conquers,
Drunks me to helplessness.
And it kills shame,
Guilt.
It hits you like an exploding racket.
It shoots out you naked.
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Author:
amethyste (
Offline) - Published: October 29th, 2025 16:16
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments1
Poetry a therapy and an end in and of itself. Lovely
Thank you.
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