Tuesday, June 11, 2013

The process and the pattern

They've come again,
those horrid things.
The pale encounter
of numb men wings...
about to burst
and open forth-
a thing with no remorse.

I grip so tight
that which holds
in madness, lives
I have been told.
These actions of
such pure disgrace;
the truth is here
upon my  face...

and in my eyes.

A quickness of
the blade I weild
will be my sword
defense- my shield.
Upon the softness
lies in wait-to take
my sanity...
and I shall break

the skin.

I watch the bead and as it grows,
I weep and let my pain disclose
so many secrets that's been kept.
So good...I opened and I wept.
To open up and crimson flows
nobody understands nor knows
and as the trail it travels to
the pictures that I keep of you.
They splatter onto loves pure face
and finally I know my disgrace.
Colors red, they tell my heart
and not just any tiny part.
As the wounds begin to feel
and as I try so hard to heal
one more word comes in to
steal....my meaning


No comments:

Post a Comment