You stand on top of the wreckage,
desolated,
scouting for someone to blame.
But all the fingers are pointing towards you.
And they speak of your cowardice,
your frailty ,
and your impurity.
But remember,
you're a casualty of your own wrong doing,
you neglected to wear your armor of decency;
only because you thought so innocently.
Those tears in your eyes will not fix the damage you've caused.
And the heavy breathing will not elevate that weight on your chest.
And it crosses your mind;
why is it that your conscience hibernates,
as you run off slipping here and there,
leaving a piece of you wherever you go.
Dismally, your cursed with its awakening.
But it's too late now,
the damage is already done.
And all your left with are the scars you carved to remind you of your own transgression.
YOU ARE READING
Behind Her Eyes: A Collection of Poetry.
PoetryHere are my words, thoughts, and most importantly, all the feelings I burry. I've finally gathered the courage to share them, and to share a part of me. Here are the thoughts that visit me through the night put into words; of all there is to fee...
