Pain smells like rotten,
tastes like bitter
and walks like its storming.
It clings to your neck like a
snake spitting venom,
its tears like lightning
eyes pleading like the thunder,
screaming,
terrorized by its own voice.
It only dreams up nightmares,
its beating heart speaks louder than
a bass skin drum,
kicking an bouncing,
fighting, announcing:
Save me,
Hold me,
Mother Help.
And sometimes she does.
Other times not.
So the pain escalates,
and lies there confused,
soaked in a fountain of tears
and a mountain of more troubles
yet to climb.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
Pain smells like rotten,
tastes like bitter
and walks like its storming.
It clings to your neck like a
snake spitting venom,
its tears like lightning
eyes pleading like the thunder,
screaming,
terrorized by its own voice.
It only dreams up nightmares,
its beating heart speaks louder than
a bass skin drum,
kicking an bouncing,
fighting, announcing:
Save me,
Hold me,
Mother Help.
And sometimes she does.
Other times not.
So the pain escalates,
and lies there confused,
soaked in a fountain of tears
and a mountain of more troubles
yet to climb.
