I polished this a little bit more and thought it right to re-post it now. It is all a true story, one no one in my life knows about, and one I don’t ever intend to explain to them, because of how difficult it would be to honestly understand where I am coming from without being sickened or afraid. I could be wrong, but I just don’t think they’re ready for something like it, and I am not ready myself to have the words leave me.
At a selfish hour, with rightly selfish thoughts
Lines so overwhelmed in agony are taught
To be my shock from a pleading secrecy
To scream; to justify the pain and the release.
Generous moonlight, illuminated tears
I hide my twitching sanity in sheer.
A lasting sorrow with night only to care
It’s the leaning, slit, the drip and stare.
Reap, to rid my eyes of their breathing hue.
The nightmarish things I put my soul through
Dangerous hope with razor hostility
The longing, the depth in red defeat.
There’s a throbbing chill, I’ve practiced this before.
Dark dream, reality, the feeling I’ve prayed for
The shadows wade low, grieving what they see,
Swallowing the sight of a desperate bleed.