Poetry Blog by The Black Bile (Mushroom)

I’ve Got So Many Problems.
Punch-Drunk Lovesick Inside, 
I Found Myself Falling
To Where I Filter Day And Night
And It Comes In Threes,
Free To Freely Bleed.
It’s Almost.
Killed Me Striving On For Days.
It’s The Local Anesthesia’s 
Inducing Of This Haze.
They Pixilate 
Always On The Border Of A Faint.
So Long Since I Left My Grave.
Judging By The Echoes,
I’ll Meet You By The End Of...

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