deepundergroundpoetry.com
Weaned
Memories of my soul feeling the clutch of dark with screams.
Like jesters on strings. Sawing on wood but it's still too
short. Drowning out my savior, echoing through a hollow
tube-like a piccolo on a string. Touched by the insomnia of
caffeine. Dripping through the night's filter of an old
poet's cadaver. Good to the last drop! as I'm weaned from
the teat of insanity.
Like jesters on strings. Sawing on wood but it's still too
short. Drowning out my savior, echoing through a hollow
tube-like a piccolo on a string. Touched by the insomnia of
caffeine. Dripping through the night's filter of an old
poet's cadaver. Good to the last drop! as I'm weaned from
the teat of insanity.
Published 20th Sep 2021
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20th Sep 2021 2:56am
20th Sep 2021 2:59am
20th Sep 2021 3:01am
20th Sep 2021 3:03am
Anonymous
- Edited 4th Dec 2023 5:45pm
21st Sep 2021 2:45am
<< post removed >>
21st Sep 2021 2:46am
