Another old thing.


I am the punctured submarine,
That sinks uncontrollably deeper,
Deeper into the ocean that squeezes life out of me.

I am the fertile earth,
On which an alien species of plant grows,
Egotistically sucking away all the nutrients within.

I feel like a flower in a garden,
A flower in the absence of wind,
A flower that repels bees and butterflies.

I feel like something that can be,
I feel like something that must be,
But somehow may never be.

Poetry by Advice
Read 76 times
Written on 2018-10-13 at 13:42

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