my lost contentment
to deny my lost contentment
would result in the resentment
of the eyes that shake the dead.
i devour what i'm fed.
rotten food that stinks of mould
is equivalent to cold,
misty mornings, when a dream
i interpret as a scream.
©LukaKorba
If you enjoyed this poem and are interested in reading more, consider checking out my blog at 
You can also follow me on other social media platforms here:
You can now also join my new poetry server on Discord here.
Check out my new poetry book entitled 'one hundred and ten' here:
With love,
