The veil is different this time, instead of hiding the world, it's me who's hiding. Instead of ignorant bliss and blinks without thinking, its struggling to walk strait with the burning hand that grips my arm tighter than those that once held the blindfold in place.
He fidgets as he waits for me. It's a long walk and will add more cuts and discolored bruises to my growing collection since the first of many bandaids were ripped so cruelly from my skin.
I remember how I would have to look up and stand on my tip toes just to see over a table, and how others were always the ones to smooth my hair after I cried about loosing the latest toy or scraping my knee on the latest blade from the scissors that leap and jump up at my face. Before they were able to reach me I believed in santa, I thought that they were only joking, I watched nearly every Disney movie ever made if not all, and I even wore cute dresses with frills and lace and ribbons to match the twirling princesses on the TV.
But as he taps his finger, a methodical rhythm in mind but not in body, and evil world is painted before me. With wars and death and greed and vengeance and so much hatred.
His paintbrush, red and nasty, lashes out at me and mine. It covers us up and kills us just enough so that we are nothing more than angry red marks to match all the others on this rotten canvas depicting life.
Please help me with the ending, I feel that this is all too blunt, please help me find more imagery. Thanks a ton!😘
YOU ARE READING
Fuel For The Fire
PoetryThis is a small collection of poems to mark my progress as a writer, note that they may change and please leave comments to help me through the editing process, thank you very much. By the way, I will read all comment and will definitely use sugges...
