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Aug 2019
Soft hands idling quietly by
snatching remnants of credibility
its cloak opaque to reflection
you grasp its hand,
like a double-edged sword
you hold on tight
wisping away into the night
never to be seen again.

The walls are dark and the smell is repugnant
death on its tongue
Decay in the teeth.
Smiling back as if a fun-house of mirrors
dubious, distorted, distraught
you hold on.

Cradling the noose like a new mother to its child
you gawk, admire, and dream
Of a darkness to bring you closer to the ledge.
Gently pushing formidable bounds
released to self-indulgence
you're alone.

As the world around you lights up only by screens
and reacts only by the ping of self-admiration.
A ghost among the blinded
walking slowly by as everything is in full speed.
Stuck in a repetitive loneliness
damnation of socialization
pity. pity. pity.

Pulling onto the strings of darkness
puppeting along madness
mastering hell as its vibrant and claw full of disappointment
you sit on the outside of the world
watching it comfortable in its cage.
Written by
Tammy Cusick  Joplin, Mo
(Joplin, Mo)   
408
 
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