I found my dark hole within
A cancer, eating at my lungs and skin
Sickness clouds all who stand beneath its embrace
I try to fix it with thoughts of moonlight and lace
All who tried have failed to break through
I ask, "why?" While my lips turn blue
A sickness of the heart and mind
It has no cure, all are blind
I am the cancer, I am the scream of pain
I the dark hole that goes on for eternity
YOU ARE READING
Lacuna
Poetryla·cu·na [ləˈk(y)o͞onə] NOUN an unfilled space or interval; a gap. Poems of 2017
