This collaborative WANDER phase, with drawing and AI, walks through an exhausting time of self-realization in a dark forest.
Some nights I�m standing tall
Upon a pile of wreckage
Of hearts I�ve slaughtered
Foaming at the mouth
I come to-
Like a werewolf
after a night of prowl.
Jaw clenched,
Brow drenched,
My knife drags heavy
A trail of fire behind me,
Tears and blood stain me,
Ringing ears of self-depreciation
No breath to be caught
I look down
At the mountain I�ve made
And the slaughtered hearts
Are mine.
- �Not Really Poetry� by AB
