The Poetry Book

Thorns

Images stuck in my head, memories of another day

Happy times I remember when I was merely a child

But lately they have been infected, becoming gray

Inflicting pain with no end, they are thorns that are riled

Desperately I tug, trying to pull them out, to lift myself out of the dark

But the harder you pull, the more it encloses, it begins to wreathe

There is no escape, I can't see the light, not even a spark

And only when it's drowned me it becomes easy to breathe

Thorns find me in real life, they pierce me like arrows

Some go deeper, but none will sink lower than me

Too many thorns, my eyesight is narrow

Soon you won't find me, the real me can't be seen

The day will come when everyone mourns

The day I was beaten, beaten by the thorns