With sickening violence
They are deep,
but not deep enough,
the blackness is still within.
The crimson pours,
but the void is untouched,
Will I ever be rid of it?
It is throughout me,
I can feel it,
churning
just beneath the surface,
so why can't I reach it?
It shies away from the blade
like a cowering animal,
afraid of the light,
only that it is not a cowering animal,
It is a mass,
a strength,
a rage,
a beast
vicious and rabid,
squatting on it's rippling haunches
Waiting.
Waiting.
For a moment
a precise yet inevitable moment
to explode
in anger
to kill me with sickening violence
and abandon
the fetid
decaying
corpse
it has reduced
me
to.
(c) Copyright - 4.57pm Saturday 30th August 2008
poem by Amy J Richardson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.