an attempt at poetry

chapter 17: 'there's nothing left for them to take'

Admiring their smiles at dawn,

How they make their eyes shine,

Even if they'll soon be gone,

I treasure them as if they were mine,

Running my hand through her back,

I know when to soothe her cries,

So when her shell begins to crack,

To her ear I whisper harmless lies,

Laughing at his jokes,

I pull the strings on my face,

And say; 'have a good one folks',

So never again he'll feel out of place,

Masking the tiredness,

That mirrors those sleepless nights,

I fake a desired peace,

And hide well my internal fights,

Deaf to my begs for release,

As I'm dragged farther away from the light,

They stare like I'm a masterpiece of some kind,

And wait sat for me to bite,

For when there's nothing more for them to take,

When the voice in my head intensifies,

And all that's left of me is ache,

When I tell myself I've become wise,

But just made another mistake,

When I at last understand why they say time flies,

When I have no other choice but to sit by the lake,

Until no more words will find my mouth,

And, unannounced, anger sits by my side,

Ignoring how a voice says it'll all go south,

I lean into its comfort and push the rest aside,

And close my eyes,

And smell its scent,

Every worry dies,

And I feel content,

I hear their muffled cries,

Until the rubble silences them,

And they've been ripped off their disguise,

As I enjoy a glass of rum with my loyalest friend,

My savior sent from hell,

Always there to mend,

Not only telling me, but helping me get well,

As he leaves the rest to rot alone in a cell.