Do you think poetry is a balance between creativity and torment?
Do you think poetic words crush the wrath of giants?
Even when my wine is sweet I always find a tequilla worm floating at the bottom
In my basement of blackness is where I will draw my last breath
Absence of comfort is blackening my soul
Starving for what was robbed from my heart
I don't want to suffer in solitude any longer
My beautiful soul stained by my lonely tears
Because nurture that was rightfully mine was
Given away to seductive vultures
My life has always been a game and
I am sick of playing
Now when I die in my oven you'll know why
My life depleted
Will you show up at my funeral?
Copyright © Courtney Dyer | Year Posted 2008
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment