Poems, stories, or other artsy stuff I decide to publish.
I opened my eye to love
and died
I carved out a wound
and cried.
Everyone loves hate.
Sorrowful with ink I write
my elegy
Sorrowful with fate I mourn
my emotions.
Everyone hates love.
Battling this war we rue
our emotions
Battling this war we knew
our corruption.
We fight, minerva.
Living with all
i tie
No love returned;
i die.
I opened my eye to love
and died
I opened my soul to truth,
and came to fly.
Soul, do you work, and if so could thy answer:
For do you understand the implications of your manner?
We believe to be dying over and over and over and over…
I cannot stand to bare this artificial pain
Illustrious emotion, do you exist, and if so could you answer:
Do you comprehend the perplexity of your surrender?
We have been left hollowed out over and over and over and…
I cannot tell if I feel a thing.
Wrathful worry, do you die, and if so could one answer:
When will you relinquish me from this barrage of stabbings?
We have coexisted as enemies over and over and….
Why am I worrying?
Is it truly my time to see the shining light, lest it be the fiery hell?
More so, could it be that I shall meet my next life?
I am infected with the disease of contingent worry,
I cannot feel a thing all the same.
written 2021.
Photo by Mishal Ibrahim on Unsplash