I shall forever be weak and weary.
Walking blindly with a delusional fairy.
The art in me will never be heard.
I write with my heart.
Blood stained letters.
I’ll pour it all out.
A blank paper filled with lust.
Decomposing flesh and bone.
It wanders endlessly.
When its cage rots and dies.
It will finally be free.
The poetry’s will.
It will reach the ones in need.
Invisible like the wind.
It attach within.
© Kester Muiredac/Val Vladicvik (Same person, different name).