Absence Of Self Poem by DAVID GERARDINO
Absence Of Self
I was smoking this bipoler trip,
filling its absence with some
frankincense, and dirt, i go
deep, untill i hit bottom, then
i get real brave and strip this
snakeskin off, so this is where
the stink was coming from,
so this is where sadness hangs
out, how sad i think, that this
place i some times call home.
Rock bottom, is just that, unless you decide to do your best to make something positive happen...A fine piece, David...''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''F j R
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 12:36:25 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A phenominal thought. I relate.