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 Apr 3 Brian
Elo
altar
 Apr 3 Brian
Elo
tawny leaf-littered
autumn's cold chill
amber sun, filtered
one tree, one hill

smoky-water rains
water scented earth
heart-loss pains
worms unearth'd

bristled seeds drift
sunset winds, rest
fluff and dust admidst
a heaving chest

sun-warmth falter
cloud coats gold
body upon an altar
everything turns cold
 Mar 30 Brian
Hope
It's like the egg shells
have voices.
They quietly yell at me
whenever I try and make
sense of their shape.

I can't question anything.
If I do, he gets a sharp tone,
and begins to
frantically wave a knife at me.
Reminding me that I have issues.
Pointing out that
I like to cause issues.

I'm scared.

Frightened of the
unknown
of what's known
and of the knife and the man
behind it.
He makes me
go silent.
He yells,
stop panicking!
you're always making
issues!
Stop questioning why I carry a knife!

I hate myself
because I've made him
carry a knife...
and I'm always the reason why he's waving it around.

— The End —