There's a fear inside of me,
wild and carnal and hidden.
A whisper of entities, so malicious and evil,
pouring their darkness into my ears,
just like the honey dripping off a liar's tongue,
almost subtle - but no quite so.
I fear that this weakness of mine will be my downfall,
that it'll take one word and
suddenly
the world will lose it's beauty and virtue
and the pressure, this rising anger, this fear,
will become so tight and coiled,
that it will explode out of me all at once,
and tear everything apart,
like a force of pure destruction.
I have this fear inside of me:
the fear that I'll one day lose control.
YOU ARE READING
Spilled Ink
PoetryThe ink with which I write is made up of the tears I cried and the blood of the trials from which my soul had died. ----- All credit for the written poetry is mine. Plagiarism will be reported and taken down. Please be respectful <333
