/lit/ - Literature

If you're going to post, critique at least one work. That way, everyone wins. Enough of this no-response free-for-all; it's not a gallery.

How sweet it is to like.
How profound, pathetic,
to abase yourself in love,
forget decay and cry
for life that comes.
Your tears decompose
the dead with vigour.
Worms writhe in skulls
and lichen coats their bones.
You are their
antithesis.
Their epigone.
Even so,
there is no precedent
for this, the thing you feel.
Imitations gone before,
timid ghosts,
stumbled in their tracks
and died unnamed.
You never reach their heights
or lows, but on your night
the perfect circle closes.
With birthday candle wax
your fate is sealed.