Category: Writers Block
Banging my head till grossteckly swollen
My hands snarled up into fists raging, banging too against
The glass of the hollow vacuum
Where there within I am contained
Locked away from the feeling of human compassion
Where even bread made of sawdust,
Mingled with broken shards of splintering glass
Would new strength give
So poor and devoid of sustenance
Why do you stand outside these glass walls
Stand there jesting, mocking, gloating your cruelty
What you think that finger pointing of yours
Gives to you self-righteousness
Have you a life so shallow
That only in deepest mire of another you find your folly fortified
For my tormentorous pain is only made more bitter
This cup that I must bear
How long must it be borne
Will time ever awaken till when in this cup
There will be something other than the dregs of death encompassing
The liquid decomposing gall so bitter
Liken as to acid making raw flamed the tissues of the throat
So scar seared that swallowing succumbs, giving way
The stinging needle goes into the vein
One drip at a time relief for pain is into the blood applied
The buzzing of the bees that can be heard
Really are they heard or in the fog of a nightmare listened to
Again I have to question if ever there will be an awakening
All feck on those hurtful stings
You jest.. Honey comes of all of this?
~*Thunderous MidNight*~