Infinite Riddles

I am a torn soul.
My words the only definition of me.
To make a bad name around town,
Is what I am and have created.
Just roadblocks of connection I put up in my poetic nights wake.

I want to be more than an indifferent chuckle.
Infinite in riddles, strife, blood, turmoil, and lust,
I have no recollection of the collective.
I am a lost resemblance of a childlike wonder of dusty books I read and set aside for myself.
I created and inhabit this peacefully chaotic island of poetic retreat.

image

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s