Another one. feedback and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated...
A creeping monster, that blends into any surrounding,
Or a siren, luring me, beautifully sounding.
my heart pulsates as it seeks me out,
look to me, give me reason to doubt.
There's a finality in the way it looks,
A finality like diagonal bishops and sideways rooks.
Dress me in saffron shirts,
or something that no longer hurts.
Hand me that which cannot be handled,
like he who was made to fly, sandalled.
hold me with your comforting arms,
Rid me of all distracting qualms.
This never happens, the monster hits me hard,
finds my heart, and makes it scarred.
Thats why i lay this into ink,
Silent screams, to make you think.
'whatever happened to the farmer's son,
who started to write, to feel he could run'.
so what happens now? when he is gone
from this world? when he is done
or given up on. we can only repeat that its
finished
finished
finished
thanks for reading.


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