The Bleak Light

female titan 12
It’s the easy slither on my face
from conditioned matters done in automatic fashion
that perform the strongest clang.
Hard tension set between brows
cause sentiments of bitterness
and loathe
miles deep
Until they carry out death sentences
in the form of migraines.
The lush of menstrual blues
and cold reality freeze the heart
from momentary joys.

Satisfaction can be found for some
through human interaction
exchanging concepts and composition
Or sitting alone in the corner of a restaurant
hunched weakly
soaking interaction
through space regarding reflective
elevated status of emotional cesspool energy.
What is contentment if others
cater to ruin the whole
lot evenly?



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