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max-c-stylesPoems
I don't know how it came to be To have so many holes in me But here I cry By and by Bleeding from the heart Where so many rivers start. I cannot explain This inexorable pain As I cross this river Styx Wondering how I'd come to this But here I am ****** and Dammed Crying cold tears Wondering what fate nears. I remain here with the ferryman Wondering how I was ever a merry man. Crying my tears of blood Just as any man would. Touched so high in grace ****** for all my race. So burning is this torment Yet cold, silent, and dormant. But I am no betrayer. No, Not yet No sin increases my fare Charon does not bring me to that gate But rather back home to finish my fate. For I am not dead And it is not living that I dread. I have only been shown this torture So I may avoid it in future. I have no place in that weeping forest Just as Dante, I was but a tourist. But so my sorrow deep and cold Should not permeate into my old But rather it shall remain a past pain. O I shall remember these such foul members But it is that which makes me Not breaks me. These are that which become me For I shall not succumb to these. And so these folds shall make me stronger Till I feels these holes, These rivers in my heart, These tears of blood, This passing of the laurel, These faults within my ore, No longer.
0
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
Reconciliation
I don't know how it came to be To have so many holes in me But here I cry By and by Bleeding from the heart Where so many rivers start. I cannot explain This inexorable pain As I cross this river Styx Wondering how I'd come to this But here I am ****** and Dammed Crying cold tears Wondering what fate nears. I remain here with the ferryman Wondering how I was ever a merry man. Crying my tears of blood Just as any man would. Touched so high in grace ****** for all my race. So burning is this torment Yet cold, silent, and dormant. But I am no betrayer. No, Not yet No sin increases my fare Charon does not bring me to that gate But rather back home to finish my fate. For I am not dead And it is not living that I dread. I have only been shown this torture So I may avoid it in future. I have no place in that weeping forest Just as Dante, I was but a tourist. But so my sorrow deep and cold Should not permeate into my old But rather it shall remain a past pain. O I shall remember these such foul members But it is that which makes me Not breaks me. These are that which become me For I shall not succumb to these. And so these folds shall make me stronger Till I feels these holes, These rivers in my heart, These tears of blood, This passing of the laurel, These faults within my ore, No longer.
#suicide#depression#death#hope#self-harm#dante#torment#inferno#reconciliation
Written by
max-c-styles
Germantown, MD
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
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