Tears

My tears are knives cutting the unemotional wall of my expressions. When my tears fall that wall crumbles and my emotions pour out like a river breaking through a dam. My tears are little bullets slowly killing me from the inside. When my tears fall there is a silent scream within the person i call myself. I do not recognize the person i see in the mirror every morning, and the person i see scares me because it is not truly me. He is an impostor in my shoes, changing the way people see me. This impostor is causing me to hate myself and now i am hoping that bullet i call a tear will finally do what it is meant to do and take this life unwanting to live, instead of killing me ever so slowly. The tears i cry are both weapons that can take a life; a knife for a wrist, and a gun for a face. But life is to short to thrive in the shadows of the negative, so live to the fullest and don't let those tears kill you as they did me.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Black Jess]

I really like the description of tears like they are bullets , it really make sense . I simply love your poem , and the last sentence was my favorite . good job