I'm most happy this way
If I can be happy at all
I suppose it's happiness. I feel content
As silver hits brown, blood begins to fall. Messy. Sticky. And hot
It feels so good I almost forgot. A sigh breaks through a tear escapes, a laugh sounds.
Bittersweet and aching. Stings a sharp burning.
But it feels good, amazing. It's not good it is really not, better then to let your skin rot. Above he watches, you ask why? Nothing no answer, only your cry. Silver leaves brown, with it, it leaves redness; a ruby, shining like a jewel upon a crown.
Fingers trail long hard lines white in colour, singing an oxymoron of tales; cowardice and valour.
The cardboard rolled tight, lay flat on the paper of white, a scatter of brown, a trickle of green, gosh how long it's been. A roll, a tug, a lick and soon you'll be hit. The puff in or the slice down, one producing a fake laugh the other a frown, escapism it's so aptly named but depression and youthful mistakes it's framed. The shaking the shivers will never cease, a flick of the switch the fire ignites, oh yes please! The foul taste dances on your tongue as the bitter sting patters against your cheek, I suppose it's better then to feel weak, to let the cold silver slip between your fingers and with a slight flick the pain lingers and down will come the oozing and all as you let your pain fall. NO! I say I will not. NO!! I say I will stop. I did I suppose, I did. The rawness the pain I hid, behind the puffs, the smoke the soaring high I let soak.
YOU ARE READING
Opening
PoetryI stare at the blank page I'm not sure what to write.... A small collection of poems exhibiting my inner most secrets; what's hiding in my soul. An opening... Author: They're not that good but it's just an opening into my innermost thoughts. It def...
