It’s been awhile since I posted, but school is keeping me busy with copious amounts of writing, making difficult to find time to keep this blog updated. Wrote a poem recently (ok I’ve written at least 10) but this one stuck with me.
But where does that leave you?
No door to signify your exsistence.
Freud sucking a cock or
was it he spilled her crimson blood (?)
Murdered when you were born
Let’s not talk about it.
Not about the time when reality
was flipped over and fucked.
Not about the time when unreality
Loose waves of unmet dreams reality(?)
Pour through you like hot wax.
Left for dreams, slumber, pitch (born)
In the belly of a whale
That is where you find yourself (unlabeled) unreality (?)