The Outside

Slow bite, rusty nail's edge,
presses as flesh gives in,
bending and flexing, a permanent etch,
new scars forming, against the wall's cold grin.

Unwillingly a veil to which I am tethered now,
my barrier, my isolation, my lost soul's silenced sound.
Reticence, the silence, bones' crunching away;
I'm trapped- and I realize- it is here I will stay.

Droplets of crimson crawl away from fresh wound,
and gather at my feet, where all ancient scabs meet,
as they are dried by time, and by fire, consumed.
I'm caught on the outside, bound by selfish retreat. 


 
 

 

Reviews

[Kawazu]

It's an art to paint a picture with few words, and you seem really good at it.

I really enjoyed your poem, and would love to read more of your work.

[Jamestown]

This is really good, I have on similar called Burnt Soul check it out you might enjoy as much as
I enjoyed reading this, thanks for sharing and b-blessed!