The world reeks

The world reeks of beautiful waste
Of stories told with volatile taste
A human mind seeks with haste
Each source of this rancid trace

The world reeks of a foul fume
With anger and venom in bloom
A scented flower clearing the room
The aftermath of a race to doom

My world reeks of a delightful spark
Each whisper of anger a work of art
Goosebumps raize the thought apart
A testament to a god of naught

My world dreams of senses anew
A palace where I can enjoy the view
A structure by which my eyes are true
My senses become my own to use

This is a very heavy poem to me. Through it I show many of the challenges I face interpreting the world through broken, over exaggerated senses while outlining those that still don’t recognize they are fighting with it. With it I hope that people can see that pain in of itself is no measurable thing, and is a fight we must all conquer eventually.

– mov51

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