Poetry Or Die

desolated views with my sights set on sunrise to bathe in the glory of my life mid action these are moments I never speak out loud you can read them if you want how should i put this down? in a nutshell? shaking in the wind a smell of smoke shadows in the corners of my eyes circles have an infinite amount of corners here try these shoes, wear my eyes come feel my skin brush pain and gain my wisdom I ended with compromise stinging nettles are still a useful plant tho I am not here, to say all about my flora Slow fade tearing a jaded aura Do I know too much or not enough? I don't know anyone who admittedly said either Is it my words? Do they make these thoughts real? I came to create a means to not feel alone the beautiful art that has become an elaborate scheme to talk to myself