I wake up slowly,
Head aching,
Ears ringing,
Wounds linking warm red liquid.
Somthing about this
Makes me feel alive
Makes me feel human.
I run from the light
And into the shadows
Where my demons comfort me
Hold me close,
Becoming me.
I do not hide
from the thing under my bed,
I bleed for the monsters in my head.
This is not a poetic beautiful act.
It's a sonnet of despair
Of a dangerous doing.
Purifying the blade
With the blood of a victim,
Whom sadness has taken over.
Skin growing red
As the vine tightens around your neck
The tears streaking your face
Make it shine in the moonlight.
The leaf
On which you've written the love
Of everyone you knew,
Lays in your clenched fist.
The branch beneath your bare feet
Snaps under the weight
Of sadness and anger
Of not feeling worth it.
It leaves you hanging
By the vines of the berry tree.
Your neck is blood red
The demons grow silent in your head.
You're falling now,
Falling down,
Flames burning your back.
Falling down into the fires of hell.
No going back to the heavenly lands
That you thought of as hell.
Watching the light fade away
Into the waters that build in your eyes.
Watching everything you had
Cave into a hole of darkness
That you tried to escape.
YOU ARE READING
The Shadows
PoetryThese are some poems I've written. Warning these are mostly depressing and can trigger any one with/suffring depression, self harm and/Or anorexia.