Reflections

Beautifully disgusting.
Handsomely robust.
Dying to live inside,
Premature death's a must.
But if what people keep saying,
Is true as truth can be.
Then maybe life's worth living.
Nasty centipedes.
Violent feathers ruffling,
Moving coast to coast.
It's not happiness I'm after
It's the pain I hate the most.
No, no pills or medicine for me,
Cept maybe a little weed.
All that does is slow my brain,
And make me want to breathe.
But bandaids don't belong,
When it's stitches that should be.
Tranquility and meditation.
But still my soul bleeds.
So to the reader of this poem:
Don't read this and feel what I do.
Reflect on what is you.