Plane of memories

Of what heaven do you talk about

When this is now

I see nothing but hellish pain inside me,

Sweet Emily where for art thou?


When dost Lovecraft describes the torture of the outer

When Plath gets to my head,

Why then Twain kept me here by my chiny chin chin.


Still a heaven where there is Alhgeiri debacles Milton

And Socrates serves a sourdough for Plato.

Then none of this would help at all


Why then make a hell when heaven is here at my hand of my

Flower, where she reminds me everytime she cries

Everytime I see myself through her emotions

That motions nothing but loving every laugh she doth cry.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s