I'm terrible at poetry. i wish it'd stop popping up some times.
Pain, struggle, desire.
To want what you can not have,
To need what you should not.
What blissful suffering I endure.
Struggle, desire, pain.
I know what is, and what is not.
I want what is not, and refuse what is.
What marvelous irony, to confuse oneself.
Desire, pain, struggle.
Will I die without,
Or does my life lose meaning?
Is this the end, or merely the next cycle?
someone shoot it down, maybe a rotting carcass will keep future poetry at bay.
View User's Journal
The things that live in my head.
I have little ideas in my head. Many of them are fed by my overactive imagination and grow and take on a life of their own. Usually they die off after a while, but I'm getting kinda tired of that. Feel free to comment, it builds their character.
 |
