Aftermath
There are never tears,
Not in public at least,
But my eyes feel dry,
As if I've drained them,
Of all the tears,
That build up inside,
My mind,
My heart
Sometimes it seems,
That music solves everything,
Whether it be classical,
Sweet and soft and beautiful,
So different than me
Or killer 'screamo',
Abrasive but true,
Emotions shining through,
It's poetry,
That some just don't hear
The pounding of drums,
Beating to my heart,
My anger and fury,
But then it slows a bit,
As do my boiling thoughts,
And I am tired and weak,
So small in this huge world,
So useless,
So nothing
I sigh,
A breath I have not yet taken,
But I feel at peace,
Relieved,
But not yet strong enough,
To carry on this war
I shall not forget.
YOU ARE READING
Virtual
PoetryNova loves three things: food, her computer, and her music. She might love Gage too, but why even try? She's Nova the Nobody. This "book" is told through poems. See the Author's Note.
