FALL

 

The blankets on my bed rise up,

positioning themselves in front

of my eyes.

Dusty dreams dance

and deteriorate

leaving one thing in my hand.

So I give in to temptation when there is nothing left.

 

What will kill me is the only thing that is keeping me alive

and once again I’m in its grip.

This time; self loathing is poured down my throat, like arsenic,

and the imaginary girl creeps in.

 She steals away the good, with her everything that I’m not.

 

It’s not a disease but a crutch, something to fall back on

when all is lost­­­- a failure in itself.

The easy way ends up the hard way.

What does it take to learn?

I still go back.

You can’t make dead eyes see.

Reviews

[Ricohard]

Whoa. What a poem!
That is probably the best poem i have read of yours. No joke.
...i thought you said you cant write poetry.Pfft.
Incredible. Really powerful Breeza.