ArcaneWolfXIII@DeviantArt
Percussive moths stir
My heart whipping the contents
Into a hysterical froth
I do not like expectation
The futility of my tongue
Nodding against a wooden palate
To speak now might alter
Radically my approach
Better to suppose uncertainty
For what could I know
Of this blue womb
That we euphemistically
Call earth?
mindlovemisery 