Unwritten

The purple mold

Hiding itself away

In a dungeon of a wall

Rarely comes out to play

 

But when it does

I see the full spectrum

I see it all

In utter beauty, chaos and filth

 

I eat the grime

I swallow the tangerine whole

I collapse under the weight

It renews me

 

Why can’t this be real?

It’s not, it’s fake

But it’s alive

The uncontrollable blazing sun

 

Everything is fake

But blunt and brutal fatalities

Cloud the mind

With questions of nature

 

No one even knows

No one can understand

The purple mold gets the glass

And the glass gets the purple mold

 

Purple mold and glass don’t know themselves

For the purple was green

And the glass turned to brick

Everything was forgotten

 

Ideas float through stars

As thoughts on waves

Tangible to none

But known by all

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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