Creeping like a maggot into my head
Crawling at my flesh with nails
Doubt fills my wound like salt
constant agony reminds me I'm not dead
Noting all my defeats and fails
Never forgetting I am at fault
But I put the beast underneath
I put my scars under my sleeve
Raise my head up high
I am holder of my heart beneath
All fears are forced to leave
Sweat to my brow until I die
YOU ARE READING
The Atrium
PoetryAs the river of life flows right through, collecting at the delta towards the Atrium of my soul
