the slowest way of dying
a poem
everyone’s moving forward and I’m moving backwards
but I don’t know if it’s exactly like that
if I mend broken roots
to heal the entire structure
and stand tall no matter what
without wayward winds tormenting my bones
while I’m placing myself solely in hiding
never displaying true values
buried in the ground
among other magical characters and their secret principles
playing dead, but still thriving
while their wicked weeds writhe like snakes
under the sheer armour of my brain
free from them for good
only the cries of seagulls and the whispers of ravens
will be the only music played after me
when no one would dare to look at me no more
my words, ideas, and photographs
they’ll weather every storm that’s left of me
however not caused wholly by my life
but by the incompetence of others around
---
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
Find me on Medium
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