By Euphedra Aster
Deep, dark scratches in the page;
Foul, fresh flesh which shows the anger that I gave,
Pour my heart out, ring the very passion that still remains,
And, finally, let me cry again.
Run away, you coward, like you never cared at all,
I hear it in my head yet I refuse to fall,
And I am not afraid, although a fool of me is made,
For I am safe behind my mask, behind my walls.
Down, down, deep into the faint indents that I have caused,
I speak yet no one cares as if my mouth is stuffed with gauze,
I stand here by myself, so close to touch the light--
Yet I am all alone, so instead of light there's night.
My words are simply actions, simply noise that hurts the ears,
And everything seems silly, all compared to my true fears,
For the voice that croaks inside my mind I never seem to still;
But I don't give a second thought for I still have my will.
The scratches are all I see now, closing in from either side,
And I can never know in which the true answer resides,
All I need to do is not look back and take a dive...
And maybe then I can finally cry again.
YOU ARE READING
Walking Into Black
PoetryDon't fear death. It does nothing for you. Death is at every turn; the challenge is if you choose to accept it or not. Don't fear pain. Pain is how you learn. Pain is the side-effect of life. If you live life fearing getting hurt...can you tr...
