Poetry When I speak poetry I do it as an art, but when I touch my roots, things fall apart, so I see the demons try to reach my back, to stressed to meditate I fall in a schakt, sourundeded by goblins and glowin worms, hit Aoteroa with magic thunderstorms, anylise the lifeline in my hand, but it`s brooken and hard to understand, flying in the sky with subliminal birds, feels like when two blind men reading the bible backwords, so I stop for a moment and try to consume, im just a lonely boy raised by the moon, I hope you like my poetry, cause it´s comming moore soon.