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Literature Text
Weighed down with a heavy heart,
Relentlessly tying myself in knots,
Alone in the cold night I stand,
With chilling rainfall all around me,
Tracing the outer lining of my constitution.
I remain still,
Seeking purification, hoping to wash away my sorrow.
Drenched, i reach out to feel the rain on my fingertips,
While elevating my hand toward my direction,
I watch the drops as they glide down my fingers and across my palm,
They slither beneath my sleeve,
The cool sensations vanishing to nothing the longer they run.
I then collect my thoughts and wonder,
Might this be what i am to become the longer i run?
It is apparent that my emancipation is overdue,
Emotions kept so deep within me,
Lurking in the darkest corners of my inner crypt,
Hysterically itching to break free.
They claw at my flesh,
Embossing my chest,
With a thirst to be declared to whom it may concern.
Reluctant to grant their freedom,
My chest remains concealed,
Never bare; always guarded,
And camouflaged with a smile.
Relentlessly tying myself in knots,
Alone in the cold night I stand,
With chilling rainfall all around me,
Tracing the outer lining of my constitution.
I remain still,
Seeking purification, hoping to wash away my sorrow.
Drenched, i reach out to feel the rain on my fingertips,
While elevating my hand toward my direction,
I watch the drops as they glide down my fingers and across my palm,
They slither beneath my sleeve,
The cool sensations vanishing to nothing the longer they run.
I then collect my thoughts and wonder,
Might this be what i am to become the longer i run?
It is apparent that my emancipation is overdue,
Emotions kept so deep within me,
Lurking in the darkest corners of my inner crypt,
Hysterically itching to break free.
They claw at my flesh,
Embossing my chest,
With a thirst to be declared to whom it may concern.
Reluctant to grant their freedom,
My chest remains concealed,
Never bare; always guarded,
And camouflaged with a smile.
Literature
Mendacious
The heart falters;
it is a weak and
fragile thing.
I feel a clasp
tight as a clamp
around it when I
hear your voice
echoing in this
dark corridor.
What beckons me
are the demons
that dwell within you.
They speak in tongues
and I curse them.
Your language
is mere poison;
a dialect long
bereft of veracity.
-Brian Shuffett
March 19th, 2010
Literature
Melancholia
I wish for
a day that I
was not pained
by your memory,
a day when I
did not feel
certain death
was upon me.
I search for
any means
of escape,
yet it seems
a feeble attempt
at erasing that
which will never
vanish from the
depths of my mind.
You have
broken me,
and I can
do nothing
more than
crawl at
your feet,
begging you
to release
me from
this mournful
existence.
You deny my
hand and I have
found a way to
reach my end
-Brian Shuffett
June 21st, 2010
Literature
She Bleeds Lead
Lead poisoned her mind from bombs constantly waging war inside her head.
She asked me to count the cracks that were bleeding lead.
I had to look away.
I couldn't watch it corrode the softest parts of her skin.
(Not again.)
What happens to porcelain eyes when they begin to weep tears of glass?
(Is it clear enough to see through, or are they too stained?)
With ribs like windows, I could see the mutilated victim of a war with no promises of ending.
Each beat a repressed scream begging to remember what its like to feel.
Before she can answer her heart's relentless cries, another bomb explodes,
Leaving her to count the cracks in her s
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Written: 19/ 08/ 09
Critiques for improvement are always welcome..
Thanks for reading
Critiques for improvement are always welcome..
Thanks for reading
© 2010 - 2024 enigma-theory
Comments37
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I love the gothic soul of the poem.