I’m alone, with smoke and bottles.
With an itch around my neck,
my feet kicks off the bench.
Surrounded by darkness,
a figure has come to jest.
“Did you do your best?”
I try to shake my head “No.”
I look at him whilst my feet kick, longing for the ground.
Lighter by the second,
I silently scream, “No. No. No.”
With knowing eyes,
the angel sighed,
raised his scythe, ready to chastise.
Although red, my eyes see the light.
But wait, this doesn’t feel right.
Mr. Reaper had nothing to do with me tonight.
My back felt the cold of the floor.
I’m dying no more.
The ancient one cut my rope.
“Don’t.” he says to me.
“Promise me, try to live.”
But I see him nightly.
Cleanse my soul with your useless accusations.
Let my heart beat in rhythm with your aggression.
I can battle any devilish insults to my being.
My body can endure all the rugged beating.
To be with you is what my soul desires.
I'm a fool if I say otherwise.
I love you no matter the agony.
Being loved back is nothing but a fantasy.
My very first poem here in hellopoetry. :) It's been a while since I've written anything worthwhile.
— The End —