The wrath of anger tears through my bloodstream;
An incessant itching that can't be relieved.
A deep burning that won't be suppressed.
These scars of mine,
They smoke and smoulder;
Get stronger and grow older.
All the while,
The world turns around me.
But I'm oblivious;
A vacant, staring stranger viewing my own life.
Like a painful, absent holiday,
The sort that dazes and dazzles;
Leaves you in a hazy travel.
The feeling peaks intensity,
Wraps its arms around you and squeezes.
All before it fades.
And all that's left is the reminder:
The hot trail of tears down your cheeks,
For the horizon of horror is all in your head.
YOU ARE READING
Cosmos
PuisiMy third poetry book; inspired by a mixture of love and hate, and developed around the sole basis of the cosmos, which without, we would not exist. *All work is my own*
