The darkness of your false light has left me cold;
I dismantled your fantasies built upon the crypt of your lies.
And we are old.
Thank you isn't said with a gun and a knife;
you held them to my head by my sons; yes, both of them.
And we are old.
The vampires in the bathroom suck your life from me,
another one you thought you'd swallow without your blow torch of hatred.
You are old.
Spinelessly you wait for me, I see you quiver.
Jello never screams, and I have screamed endlessly
until it's old.
I'm going home, to me,
to where my heart is;
that's home.
Away from home.
Author notes
something someone said to me, quite a while ago. The reason I am never free; I simply can't let go.
A contest entry
- PIF PROMPT CONTEST by penman.
700 points, ended August 19, 2008, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Wonderful
Very well done. Best of luck in the contest.
-
Guilty
as charged
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