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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1580508
For Stormy's Poetry Contest
FAME

Oh, to be so twisted.
How exhiliration must
tremble inside one's heart,
as one stands drenched,
motionless.
Shall one exhale,
and awaken noiseness
inside the panic?
To sense fawning,
folks shore and crowd,
chest to chest,
stares of worship,
cameras for posthumous
rapture.
Ah, to be twisted,
bizarre, dead from one's
fantasy of one's self.
This be fame.

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