The full body of a woman I had once been,
but there’s too much these eyes have seen;
an overload these muscles have insufferably felt;
the hatred has made my bones break and melt.
Where my heart once steadily raised and fell,
is merely now an ancient echo in a shell.
the place my soul may have once rested
wiggly white mites has now greedily infested.
My fingers, ages ago covered in ink,
decomposed; into the dirt it will sink.
the thoughts that always over-crowded my mind
can’t torture me still, a new host they’ll find.
My lips always overflowing with words and song
are cut off, sealed, maimed. (wrapped around a bong)
I used to fight, stand tall, correct any injustice,
but I am bent and broken, I yearn for solace.
Everything that made me a being of pride
is reduced to dust and ashes – I’m dead inside.
a wistful woman filled with blood and flesh
has been replaced by a shell made out of mesh.
YOU ARE READING
A Series Of Events
PoesieI've found that I am most comfortable in discomfort and chaos, as opposed to serenity and happiness; probably because this broken part of me is all I've ever known. love, turmoil, desperation, infatuation, betrayal, death. these poems will contain...
