god.
faith these days weighs
little on my heavy heart,
because how can we be sure
that this exhaustion is
not hell?
how can we be sure
that what we fear so
deeply isn't
with us already on the surface?
isn't in the eyes
of the mean,
and in the
collectivity of the dim crowds?
in the throats of the
damned,
in the hearts of
the already dead?
we can not be sure.
i envy the people
who don't grasp at answers
to feel okay.
i am always searching with
my hands outstretched.
but some only need
theirs clasped
to know it all.
god, god, god.
how can i be sure?
-V
(sorry if this offends anyone somehow)
(my bad)
CZYTASZ
still, none the wiser (poetry)
Poezjai grieve for memories, mostly. ☆☆☆☆ these poems are messy attempts to decipher my feelings about messy things. (also I love criticism, plz be mean <3)
