And after all these things
My head is spinning
My eyes are tired
But the bombardments don't stop
They never, all the thoughts and outbursts
Always there, creeping up the cracks
Of a decaying mind and body
My old self is no more
Replaced by a worldly copy
Yet the cracks and bombardments remain
Creeping up
To the wounds on top
YOU ARE READING
Time Capsules: A Poetry Collection
PoetryI should hate it. It's a curse, after all. I've caused a lot of pain, hurt a lot of people because of it. My youth went by so fast it's like I'm still there, at the very first step towards this insanity. I can only remember fragments of it. Eight ye...
