0139

A Poem by Wraith.

Repulsive, poetic

Floods of narcissism

Grandeur

we all carry the illness

I play with self pity

Self obsessed

introspective

Cut out my brain.

There is nothing here of worth.

© 2015 Wraith.

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jacob erin-cilberto

wow, is it true? maybe...as poets we write all this pain...but maybe it is just all narcissism...

what a thought...and then the crusher, that there is nothing here of worth...

maybe we all have the mental illness of writing.

Posted 10 Years Ago

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1 Review
Added on July 3, 2015
Last Updated on July 3, 2015

Author

Wraith.

warwickshire, United Kingdom

About

“I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been.. more..