Nor in the countenance of my beloved.
I care no more for beauty of sound,
Not even for the cleanliness I loved.
The rhythm of word and note,
Inspires not my feet.
Even the words of my teachers,
Like bitter medicine I treat.
Unmashable storylines
Cry havoc in my brain,
Dissatisfied I turn to excess
Of mirth, games and grain.
Fasting and exercise, such panicked attempts at penitence. But every fibre of me resents these insults to my sentience.
1 comment:
Well written, can understand your feelings in between the lines
and i completely get the last part, i also turn to food and games when things are just not going good.
Please write more, i think you have great poetic skill!
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