The Weak and Weary.

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.

A soul.
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).

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