the Deceased POEtic Soul
He was my joy.
My life.
My vibe.
He was dark.
He was creative.
He was mentally troubled.
Emotionally relatable.
I miss when he talked to me.
When he recited his Poems.
My uncle, my beloved Uncle Edgar A. POE.
How brilliant he were.
How he was.
He always visited me in his spirit.
He talked to me quite often
Other kids found me disturbed.
Edgar, uncle Edgar.
Where did you go?

© TraumatizedEEL