I could haemorrhage every verse that
Lines that penetrate deeper than
what is penned.
Lying motionless on the wounds
that never heal,
confusion of what is my pain
and written verse.
I have hollow veins, nothing more to say,
altercations of a heart and self.
Looking beneath, I have scrawled a thousand
pains but there is nothing is seen..
Empty silhouettes gather around
my footsteps sweeping me in the
current of what's expected of me.
I'm not a reflection of you, no matter
the pressures, pushing me into a tide
of despair, I'm going under do you care.
Collecting my discomfort, I etch it word
for word. Anxiety drains from my wrists
flowing within each syllable, scaring paper.
Ill never be a perfect copy of your footsteps,
drained of self, I'm a fractured reflection.
I'm tired, I need to be a reflection of me.
The world is a mirage of echoes,
versing past my vision like illusions.
I try to reach out, but shadows hold
no grasp of my disappointment.
Failures mirror on myself as they cling
to my insides like teardrops of acidic despair.
They melt away at the picture perfect hollow
smiles that are cracking within each falsehood.
I'm tired of the scars of my past, stories that
bled, healing but still bleeding beneath myself ..
Beneath the white snow of her
a beauty is motionless.
Waiting for her moment as wilted
rose petals fall motionless,
crimson tainting her purity.
The words still lingering, buried within
never to be exhumed from her thoughts.
This bride forever waiting , still holding
on to the rose, she is wilted like it,
but her beauty is motionless as others cry.