The point in everything is nothing. Nothing to see. Nothing to prove. But, words. Proving your point can be said more delicately by explaining your thoughts in the form of words. To me, poetry is the form of words. And this poetry does not have rhyming words but just meaningful ones.
The points are not the point. The point is poetry. – Allan Wolf
There’s a devil inside me.
It loves my thoughts.
It feeds on hurt, lies and failures.
Reminding me of my mistakes and my faults.
It makes my memories float in my head.
Rewind. Fast forward. Rewind.
Where is the pause button? Maybe broken.
There’s an angel inside me.
It screams positivity into me.
To make me forget about those pathetic people.
Saying that it loves me, that I’m amazing.
Telling me it’s okay to be wrong and that no one is better than me.
But, the truth is, it is the angel who is evil, not the devil.
Because it’s all just connotations and assumptions.
The angel feeds on flattery and pretty lies.
But the devil feeds on the criticism and the ugly truth.