Poetic conspiracy


I’m floating on the delights of misfortune

What else would you spect from this black heart of mine?

A shell of what I used to be perhaps

But this is just a poetic conspiracy

Rotten words from dried out fields

Empty oceans growing in darkness towards empty skies

I’m I being too dramatic? Perhaps…

Shall I stop this charade?

Who would listen to what I have to say?

Maybe the hollow

Oblivious king of intensity

The clock is ticking

Time is getting wasted

Still, here we are…

I will stop the nonsense now

With a sense of regression, blissful transgression

This was about nothing, nothing at all

Except for A Perfect Circle song getting ripped off here and there…

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