Line after line
I slash through mercilessly
Running them through with the sword-tip of
My brutal pen
I watch then suffocate under
Iron bars
Of blue poison
They glisten
Blood on a battlefield
Then soak in
Softly
Die
Die.
Die.
My saviours on
Dark nights,
The only things I can
Express myself with,
Now they let me down,
I fumble for
The right ones.
But they remain
Blurred
Through the wet eyelashes.
YOU ARE READING
The Teenager: A Poetry Collection
PoetryA collection of poetry loosely based on the teenage years. Written 2012-2013.
