Poetry is a Plague

For art alone makes my heart ache for a me

A me that'll sing poetries for what they feel

The feelings that'll solidify the depth

Where diving headfirst would crack open my skull

And let all my emotions run out

Run out like warm blood on a flower bed

Sink in like a painter's oil in tap water

That strips off the flower's youth, the water's purity

Staining them forever, yet preserving their dignity

Let all my emotions fly out

Feral like evil let out of Pandora's box

With one thing left behind

Not hope, ache, ache clinging still

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For poetry is a plague, it does very much exist

Like a rainbow, in adamant monsoon, in the abandoned sun

Something to see yet never to touch

Something you can never make the beginning or the end

Always afar, always unknown

The eye loses its virginity to something so beautiful, yet aches still, for the plagued it has become.

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But never will I ask to not be struck

Struck by the lightning straight to my soul

I wish to never be cured of this plauge

For it fulfills my ugly, plagued, plagued heart.

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Feedback 1 : https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/RgmbJOdQ8d

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Feedback 2 : https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/PvM0AxqdIv