Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2020
I need a poisonous tip
one that is as sharp
as the tongues of these mockers
shouting in my ears.

I need a hallow soul
with an emptiness...
as vast as the crevasse
found in my heart.

I need a knife,
a blunt knife,
to slowly feel its edges
cut open my skin

until it causes
my heart
until it causes
my soul

to cease to exist.

For what is life but a series of unfathomable events...
leading us astray?
Chris Balase
Written by
Chris Balase  37/M/NoWhere
(37/M/NoWhere)   
51
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems