Of all the things to bleed from,
Nothing is truly worse than
Out of a small hole in the heart.
It lets you slowly seep out, depleting
you from a strength you want to own.
As much as I try to convince myself
I've forgotten...I remember.
Ten years, one month, and a
Small handful of days it was,
When that small hole was cut from me.
I met the devil that day, but I
shamefully asked for his help.
His cold hands, like a corpse guiding
Me along the way. His eyes deep
And black like still shadows. His tools
Of the trade: death and pain.
Ten years, one month, and a
Small handful of days ago,
I finally realized that there was a
Hell, but could not seem to find
Where the hell heaven was.
Mum is the word and not even that is
Discussed these days. Do not ask,
Do not tell is the policy of the shame.
Sometimes I feel like those cartoons;
When they've been shot multiple times, but
Do not realize that the holes are there
Until they try to take a drink. Then, everything
Leaks out, as if it was never to be owned
From the start.
honesty always appreciated
Comments
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i love your words.
truly and deeply they affect me.
we have shared hell, looked for egresses, searched for answers, and kept silent as if hand in hand long before we were vaguely familiar with one another, but we've never held hands or heard one another's cries for help.
all we've done is helped fill hell's pools with our individual pang, drowning in sorrow.
I knew the tears tasted familiar.
If i ever find you in my journeys there, i promise you will never see it again.
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Awsome
i love this poem and all the deep thoughts you have expressed here, i love how you describe meeting the devil and the way you felt and not relizing that you have those holes until something leaks out, Awsome poem, and as always keep up the writing, ~Amy
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aw my cuddly bear this is deeply
and powerful throughout thank you for sharing
maralisa
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aweee this is beautiful! incredibly sad though
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