i looked up at the sky
and searched for God
so that i could ask Him
why He let you suffer the way you did
(the gruesome tale of murder and blood all over your shirt
the innocence of your life dying right in front of your eyes,
it all happened so fast,
and now you wonder how you survived)
i looked for His Hand
to pull me up into Heaven
and whisper to me that you will be a whole person again
(i don't want empty promises
or lullabies to coddle me to sleep,
i want resurrection
i want you to come back to me)
i searched for Him
because i cannot find you sometimes
when you are lost in thoughts
that paralyze you
under the heat of the morning sun
hidden in the vivid dreams
covered in another's blood,
longing for a time that can never be found again.
i see the pain you wear around your throat
like a noose slowly squeezing the oxygen out of your body
(you always talk about how you want the chair holding you up to snap
so it can snatch
the air from your lungs)
each passing day
and each idle night
the stars used to shine because of you
but now you run away from their light
your aura has dimmed into a grayness
where it was once teeming yellow
and golden like sunsets bleeding into the baby-blue sky
on a summer night
by the beach
(do you remember a time when you used to be happy?)
i wish you were still who you were
and not who the world created you to be.
YOU ARE READING
spilled ink.
Poetrypoetry (/ˈpōətrē/) - words spilling onto paper in the form of emotions. creating an outlet for themselves; turning abstract emotions into a tangible mental image. poetry is not meant to be read, it is meant to be felt. *all written content is orig...
