Regards to My Somethingness
Imperfection.
No trace of rapture lingers in torment.
She, who cannot love herself,
is without peace in mind and body.
Bound within a vision of insanity,
this point-of-view, a fantasy,
is disturbed, although never woken.
They are my calling,
these remnants of corrupt self-loathing -
this surreality.
I am outcast.
While my remains will be forgotten,
play forever, my fractured harmony.
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traffycake
Nice to meet you! Feel free to call me Sam! I'm 25 years old with both a B.A. in Visual Art and in English/Creative Writing. I have a love for dark and unusual free verse poetry. While that makes up most of my portfolio, I do have a few lighter poems. Be warned, I do touch on some pretty real subject matter. Take caution.
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