0139

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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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 9 Years Ago

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

Author

Wraith.
Wraith.

warwickshire, United Kingdom



About
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