Below is the poem entitled The Musings of a Moron which was written by poet
The First Born
The First Forgotten. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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The First Born
The First Forgotten
The First Born The First Forgotten
People usually walk around without realizing how far deep they have sunk in life, amidst the lies that they tell themselves to keep going, to not stop and wonder about what are they doing, blindly and oblivious to how awful things can be. And, as like that, they talk
without pondering for the consequences of their words, that are more like slings and arrows.
No... Actually, they are aware, but most chose not to see it by how it really is and to not change the behavior.
I, for one, want to fool myself, also, in order to achieve their level of ignorance, or to sink even more deeper, so I can find bliss, then.
I want to experience it all, I want to know how it is to go deep inside of the other, to exchange caress and fluids. I and to feel the warmth and the slippery of the insides of the other, then, to go with the flow, all inside.
To say farewell to the crimson flow that stains my soul and my floor and my hands.
The moment of clarity is thin, really brief, so I can spy inside my self and realize I want it all or I don't accept anything.
Even though I yearn for such malice, I want, as well, to nourish feelings for the other, to love someone and let my hatred wither and die.
I want to love again, to feel loved, to live for someone and not for an empty and worthless purpose.
I do not want to pass my genes on, I want just to live a romance, even if it is just a fleeting moment, I do not care. Before my demise, I'd like to experience that...
My mind roams far when I do place those thoughts, those desires above anything else I do imagine
I think I will stop swallowing the compressed wonders she gave me, they don't work as they should, else I would not wish for those things and I would not wonder about anything as like that, I would be a puppet on her hands, a soulless puppet, that is what I would be, or am I already? Am I missing the strings or were my strings severed? How does my soul looks like now? Is it so tarnished that its filthy goes to my outer husk to everyone else to see how pitiful that I am? Is that the reason that I don't have my other half and it seems I will never have?
I do not know, I must not care, I must not, for I fathom how spiteful and worthy of punishment I am or I might end on the depths of madness while treading heavily on this dark side of the conscience, where the bliss and joy have no place.
And so, as I am becoming aware of that, I fathom the whys and hows that I am musing about these thoughts and not living them...
A glance at the looking glass show me why I am as I am... A constant reminder tht S.O.B. is...