Clocks & Poetry

I made this!  I plan on making more!  I will likely be selling them - more on that soon.

---

Would you drink a wine

with the terroir of

discarded shells?

Bombs.

Young

dying at the hands

of their enemy,

while 

unseen invited

slave masters

drink of their

chardonnay

mentioning

fruity nose

and not

bitter tears.

---

I was born a liar.

and every day I grow to be an older

better

liar.

and every time I talk

from birth screams

to “excuse me”

to “pardon me”

none of this is

any part of me

and every day I get better

at being weaker

and sadder

and less myself

and more everyone

else

because

Im a liar

and like you breathe

i say “excuse me”

“pardon me”

just so you can’t see

how far gone I am

and how little I care

You’ll see me

the way you want to see me

you’ll see me as

a shell

less myself and

more everyone else

because Im

a liar

a tired out worn

down liar

the kind that screams

inside and Im weaker

and outside

where you’re smiling

Im cutting

like Maldoror

a smile

so you forget

how much a liar

I really am