my blood burns with fire
not b/c I want it to
but b/c that’s what I am
I’ve never known any other way to exist
you found me in moments of brilliance
words of beauty drippin from my soul
it’s easy to fall for the poet
when you can’t see the monster
I warned you bout the darkness
how I am torn pages and bloodstained ink
how I am whispers that grow into screams
I am not in control
when inspiration takes me
I create and you watch
convinced this is the real me
but the crash comes. always
yesterday’s inspiration is today’s torment
turnin into demons inside my skull
now a stranger in my own skin
there is no escapin this
genius and madness are mirror images
what lifts me highest drops me hardest
that’s the deal I made with the devil
that’s the price I paid for art
I don’t understand how
you have seen the monster
and can still believe in poetry
knowin that I will disappoint you
I will write verses that break you open
then forget why you mattered
I will love you with impossible intensity
then go cold without warnin
not maybe. not might. will
I am creation and destruction
I am nothin like what you wanted
when you dreamed of lovin a poet
get too close and I’ll show you
how grief can disintegrate bone
how hearts are just another thing
that were made to be broken
this is simply what it is
I am beauty chased by wreckage
I am a monster wearin a poet’s face
touch me and you’ll see
there is no other endin to this story
Every single line in this poem is brilliance. Publish, please. You have a gift. Your writes are engaging, hard to put down.
Your struggle is relatable and you could help so many.
appreciate your thoughts
My pleasure.
There is poetry in the monster. Some need to feel the monster to be alive
I can see where people like to believe there’s poetry in the monster. there’s not.