Awaken, seething hate disguised as love
Breeding feeding, reaping veil of love
Unleash me, I awaken
____
Spiralling down my spur,
I’m vague and begging
Grip my head in the vice,
strap myself to the rack
Thread these hooks through my skin,
rip my face off
Endlessly pleading for way out.
Endlessly, finally
Screwed against the wall
I’m torn against it
Enduring and bleeding
Life’s bitter decay
sweet, sweet pain (I’m suffering)
sweet, sweet ache (I’m smiling)
I conquer this ache
Sweet, sweet pain endlessly
Finally this is real
Spiralling down my spur,
I’m vague and begging
Grip my head in the vice,
strap myself to the rack
Thread these hooks through my skin,
rip my face off
Endlessly pleading for way out.
I for you, I of you
Endlessly, finally… Fortitude
About the Creator
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Within poetry
Reducing my working hours seemed to be a saddening yet efficient choice to be myself again. Finding someone, as if something was amiss. Here I am, and thankfully not the same person as I was, but the grey moodiness withstands any medication and therapeutic walk one may take, suddenly obscuring sleep, allowing you to eat more or to eat less, and making me prone to poetry. Not really to any benefit, to tell the truth.
By Avocado Nunzella BSc (Psych) -- M.A.P about 5 hours ago in Poets
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