I slowly cough in the window,
Dreaming of a storm.
My eyes re-cooperate,
Nothing left to mourn.
Everything I fought vindictively,
Trying to soften up the storm.
Am I okay, or will I get over,
While drifting over to scorn.
Maybe I could stop,
And let the world be thunder.
It's rain and rot that grips the grot,
That's built in feverish corners.
Let me get over, let me get over.
This is not a game, this is not a wager,
I aver the cause, and dry the papers.
This was already here, who's whistled to fable?.
Yeah I notice that I come off pretentious. A lot of things just come to my head and I write them. And they "seem" to be right. So I kinda go with them, but at the same time I am always doubting myself, so I am really just trying to find my "Groove" without coming off as pretentious and feeble. You know?? Example, "Chaos is sparked in my sides. There is a deep itch and it is mad. With redemption it will suffer". This is what just came to my head. But i don't know what it means. But I "think" that mostly it's just different parts of my emotions leaking out into one. I guess...If anyone can shine a little light on me or something about this. That would be well appreciated. Thank You!
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Submission Name: The Death of Partenya
