#13
I’m wary,
A crumpled mass
Amidst the decadence
That precedes gout.
An airborne allergen
Recycling without end
Back into my lungs,
Ravaged by shaking beliefs
And self-pitying agony
That purees into a mass of grey thick
Bubbling goop.
My room littered with company,
With crutches and souvenirs,
I drift back and forth between two poles
A bipolar biped
With no idea of what to do
In his head
But to feed his megalomaniac
That sits unquenched, unchecked,
Until the world resigns
And ends.
Part 6 of an ongoing series where I post a poem a day from my most recently completed collection of poems titled, "A Piece of the Breadcrumb Trail". Please follow if you enjoy this or any of my other poems. I appreciate any and all feedback and hope to hear from you and hope that something of what I write can in some way help you. All the best.