I lock the door,
to keep out the demons.
They come in,
when I’m sleeping.
My brain——- wide open.
Feelings come pouring,
all over——- my floor.
I am drenched,
in the tears
of cyclical——- loathing,
that I will never,
get over.
Synapses——- fixated.
Age of catharsis,
carried——- within.
Rifles misfiring,
stolen——- nostalgia.
Lost youth,
now tormented.
Old souls,
with useless,


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Preferido o celebrado por...

Cory Garcia Imrogue

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