deepundergroundpoetry.com
Alone is Home.
Hours on hours
I spend in this pit.
This pit, the epitomy
of wretchedness.
The sights, the sounds,
the people
all fucking disgust me.
Feet sinking in the mud,
tretching on, to absolutely
NOWHERE.
Sinking feet, sinking feeling.
I am gone.
I spend in this pit.
This pit, the epitomy
of wretchedness.
The sights, the sounds,
the people
all fucking disgust me.
Feet sinking in the mud,
tretching on, to absolutely
NOWHERE.
Sinking feet, sinking feeling.
I am gone.
Published 10th Mar 2013
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10th Mar 2013 12:49pm
18th Mar 2013 00:40am
Just because you are going "absolutely nowhere" (not just nowhere)and constantly "sinking" it doesn't follow that "I am gone." Maybe there is more "sinking" (or descending) before you are in place, to ascend. You have fine poetical ability and flow. I liked the poem and I thank you for sharing this bit of your life ("feeling," as you sometimes phrase it) with me. That is not an easy thing to do.
marcella1
marcella1
