Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
scullyPoems
I liked to be in Hell, and I liked to be there alone. Violence tangled in this tissue, This shame, I am cut open, A faithful mutilation with scars that Read like atonement. This Rage is violent and mine- The wrong kind of ugly, I know. The living body of a survivor Wakes up each morning in a grave.   I have always carried my love for this world, Carried my horrible reverence for this world, This world is sick like a knife. I can feel eternity pressing against my throat. There is Nothing, It comes to devour from the inside. The length of silence swells                 like a syndicate of ants. In Hell we are alone. What can you do besides hold your hand out to the dark?
0
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 2:36 PM UTC
possession
I liked to be in Hell, and I liked to be there alone. Violence tangled in this tissue, This shame, I am cut open, A faithful mutilation with scars that Read like atonement. This Rage is violent and mine- The wrong kind of ugly, I know. The living body of a survivor Wakes up each morning in a grave.   I have always carried my love for this world, Carried my horrible reverence for this world, This world is sick like a knife. I can feel eternity pressing against my throat. There is Nothing, It comes to devour from the inside. The length of silence swells                 like a syndicate of ants. In Hell we are alone. What can you do besides hold your hand out to the dark?
scully
Written by
scully
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 2:36 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem