If
When I become
No more
Than my bad habits
A riddled shell of vice
Stripped in succulent
Barred with indulgences
Prisoner to pathology
Would you still see me.
Slowly it rots me
It would rot you too.
Could I stand to see
What was done to you?
Shame and guilt
Singed paper
Pulling me out
Of society.
Pulls me out of myself
Sage burning demons away
Strange fear it's all
That is keeping me sane.
IkE/2022 apr21 8:39
No comments:
Post a Comment