Dying, living,
Fading, growing,
is there even a difference?
Anger, yes.
Oh, yes.
I
can
feel the
horrors
and it is a comfort to know
that I still have
the ability
to actually
feel something,
anything...
it wafts from your writing
like red, animaic lines
that cause mania
and madness
like the roots
you speak of.
but i know anger too.
i know now what it feels like to want
nothing more than to smash
a windowpane
and watch it's pieces
embed themselves
in the eyes that hurt
you beyond compare
and even those
that didn't.
I know the unwanting,
the unfeeling,
the uncaring.
And I feel it.
Because I am no longer a fellow silvertongue, oh no.
I am but
a simple
machine.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
Dying, living,
Fading, growing,
is there even a difference?
Anger, yes.
Oh, yes.
I
can
feel the
horrors
and it is a comfort to know
that I still have
the ability
to actually
feel something,
anything...
it wafts from your writing
like red, animaic lines
that cause mania
and madness
like the roots
you speak of.
but i know anger too.
i know now what it feels like to want
nothing more than to smash
a windowpane
and watch it's pieces
embed themselves
in the eyes that hurt
you beyond compare
and even those
that didn't.
I know the unwanting,
the unfeeling,
the uncaring.
And I feel it.
Because I am no longer a fellow silvertongue, oh no.
I am but
a simple
machine.
funny how a single poem written by an old acquaintance can make you remember. Nice to have you back, Mike.
