Now from the dark, a deeper dark
Comes a pain so great it tore me apart.
The gashes and wounds I conceal
Is what makes me know that I'm real.
The trauma goes unseen,
And the effects are beyond "mean".
The mask I wear appears to be pure white,
But I know that my soul is nothing but darkness.
I am the spawn of the darkest of nights.
There are times when I feel nothing but fright.
Fear for myself.
No, the fear is of myself.
The sins I've seen have yet to leave me;
The sins I've committed have yet to let me be.
The darkness from within me is something malicious.
Oh so daunting, but sometimes I find it delicious.
Death waits for me,
Perched on its precipice.
It's gaze is set, but it waits in harmony, allowing me the sight of life
And the city still.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry: Blossoming River
PoetryAn anthology of a portion of my dark, foolishly loving, or morbid thoughts. But it's not all gloom and doom either. Read at your own risk. Enjoy.
