(this is not the beginning)
My walls are so generic
barren, empty-I'm bereft
I've written so much of me onto this paper,
I don't know if I have any left
The rhymes, which used to be subtle
come faster than I can draw breath.
You took away the sun from me
and made it black as night,
now empty threats and epithets
are all that I can write.
I'd like to say you locked me here, too
so I could place some blame
but the only one I can blame is myself-
for amassing so much pain.
(And here I thought I was clever-
turning sorrow to words on sheets,
with my eyes too stained with teardrops
to remember what it all means)
(this is not my end.)
Comments
-
If I read any piece anywhere with no author noted and the word 'clever' was used, I would know it was you. It is one of your favorite words. You write so many verses regarding someone who seems to be so close but so far away. This is another example and I can smell you. I can taste you. This is the essence of Emma and I have missed it so badly. I smell you again and sense your presence in every word you offer. RC
-
good write
I hope you feel better soon.
Adding your comment:
