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by Felix 3 years ago in humanity
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Poetry for the wicked

The world; large mass, filthy

riddles conjured by humans pulling

at their own skins.

Depression; large mass,

poisoned with a lonely stench

where humans sulk when they

feel broken.

Mass stirred conflicts; humanity

unbecoming. What do we monitor when

history blends into the present?

Year after year, cycling no change. Nurturing illness

and perpetuating dis-ease. Recurring habits

demand better resolutions.

We, the large mass, are filled with filthy

riddles. We are pulling at our skins. Depression

poisons each of us with a lonely kind of stench.


what are we becoming? Whom do we monitor when

history blends into the present?

Ourselves or everybody else?


About the author


I heal people and I write things.

IG : @jnmps

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