composition

your des­tiny is like a spire string a cloud from a chim­ney
asym­met­ri­cal
seek­ing its way through the waves of the wind

lash­ing
de­terred
in­ter­rupt­ed

but there is a line
a pat­tern
that is your des­tiny
where you see what you be­come and where you are go­ing

it is delved out of chaos and can­cer
and that pat­tern is spir­i­tu­al­i­ty
and how that be­comes in re­al­i­ty for your life is the cor­ri­dor of mir­rors

life doesn’t give presents
even if i know i’m right
peo­ple are just dumb mat­ter
spout­ing me to the in­evitabil­i­ty

i know it would be too easy if i got what i want­ed
i would have no self re­spect if i was al­ready wrong
about how wrong they are

but when i am in­evitable
the peo­ple who de­serve it
and ogled me
and they will get what they de­serve
as it is in­evitable
with the de­cay and fi­nal ex­tinc­tion of earth
that i get what i de­serve
and that is the fu­ture

de­spite

the bab­blers
and the oglers
and the kack­lers
and the snot noses
and the snot noses ser­mons

—tris­ti­tia lan­guorem

Flom­mist Tris­ti­tia Lan­guorem eats tragedy. They have many names but it doesn’t change much the whole premise of the ideals. Antwerp, Bel­gium is where home is. It’s time for a fresh start. Copy­right © 2019 Tris­ti­tia Lan­guorem. Paint­ing source.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

READ SOME  RELATED  DER TUNG  POSTS  :

rab­bit hole should you trem­ble at my door hi wendy these things and those things for pa­tience my open let­ter to pyschi­a­try ei­ther stand here.