I am bleeding profusely,
just below the surface.
These memories like razors,
are scars hidden in the sleeves of my hoodie,
that I crave to show you,
but can never reveal.
War-zones within,
have taken a toll on my
soul. ( sorrow is real )
This sentimental shrapnel,
I feel below the surface of my skin,
protruding like emotional tin,
purchases my silence,
formulated like science.
When others grow full,
my belly still aches
for honey,
hunger pangs are funny,
like the kicks of a bull.
How long,
will You turn your eyes
away from me?
The Prophet said,
"I've never seen the sons of the righteous go hungry"
but I starve week to week.
Rescue me,
before I draw too far away,
lost in the dark and bleak.
Bleeding out profusely,
waiting to be fed.
(C) DM 2017
Reaching. Trying to keep the faith, when no relief is near.
