Things that matter.

A poem, you ask?
I sit here and think, wondering what
we are,
when doors are shut
Tight and hard.

Alright, I will come with you for the trippy fight;
also, came with my freshly chewed skin,
All the prose and adjectives are here
We’ll keep them the way they have always been.


Let me give you a guilt trip with rich metaphors
Like the whispers you heard last night,
we’re beautifully demonic; we walk like angels.
A war against the world, you say? would you dare?

When next time you come to fight beside me
I’ll remember everything you tried to shatter,
But my question is , are you here because it matters
Or for the fame that comes later?

3 Comments

  1. I hate fame, fame is for losers.
    I would be happy to have some forests and trees, that’s all.
    And may I win or may I fall,
    I am here because it has to be.
    And I never wanted to be.
    But I guess this is what you expect from a loser.
    Like I am one.
    While you are many.
    Even if I would win,
    I wasn’t in your skin.
    So I wouldn’t earn any fame,
    because all I am is lame.
    The marshial matters,
    but its not me.
    I am just the guy with the hat made of straw.
    Like I eat my food, better cold and raw.
    Don’t follow me,
    But be follow each other.
    (They won’t know what hit em.) ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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