Creepy Poem
>> Wednesday, June 24, 2009
[It would seem there is yet much angst in my happy little bohemian soul. Apologies about the title. I couldn't stop myself.]
I look down
to see, my feet
are not my own.
My fingers are
melting, slowly, dripping
Like candle wax.
Hot puddles on the mosaic.
My eyelids
are heavy, hung
It is so cold.
Drenched in misery and self-loathing,
Who have I become?
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