Masquerade and Misfortune

My brain is  a minefield,

My brow is anything but proud,

My eyes are a prison, the tears are the prisoners,

Cracked lips and straight lines;

My throat is filled with desperate pleas,

My lungs starve for breath,

My heart is a haunted house;

My wrist is a battlefield,

My nails dig nothing but the past;

My stomach is a black slug,

My legs are clanking silver spoons,

My feet, bruised and clumsy;

My hands hold onto mishandled conjunctions,

My pen is a throbbing heartbeat,

My journal, is a graveyard.

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Author:

I've been writing poetry since I was a kid and my poetry is without fail a description of things that matter, to me. I pretend to not like love poetry. I have an insane love for popcorn!

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