Let's start my story, it's story,
The juggernaut - enrage,
Stepping on convex sticks,
Slaughter the sage.
Rusted poppy plants, tundra-
Follows- the anxiety employed sorrows.
I siphon more than they pop,
Global warming is only six feet and five inches,
Underneath my cartilage compass.
I constantly stampede, begun the slow,
Slumping, trampling, laying, smothering
Choking on spores, I only saw the black warts grow,
Amber green forest that take my view,
Green? A first person specter?
Another life in making, possibly?
I - eye help!
Snobbish though, child,
They ripped my skin,
And more! sudden saw blades wild,
A family, harvesting me?
Déjà vu, striking one, twice, thrice,
Their corpses snugging tight,
But clarity I see now never sought,
I too am a micro-j'naut
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: new,realization,sickness