With what an whom, Im sorry

talks for its self

 

 

 

 

Too late I've written, and not see?
Who... an what, inspires whom.
***************************************************************************
Very,
different picture...
oh so so acidly bitter, bile.
The stranger walks on by the smile, and sees,
one, of relief.
To this picture. The raised surface sinks, I feel...
we don't. I gather.
Know the difference, and under the skin... we feel,
The crawling, of shades...
the days spent with worms, and demons.
Scratching concrete rivulets, aside.
Just to know. The feel.
Of grit. As you say, 'and no... I don't, know!'
The reality of another's pain... The day to day, drain.
As I have, an deal. The same. Hmm... the pains.
How is it, when I read these sentiments.
As it's taken, in the first person...

I, in the equation, and can not turn, to the writer.
With dealt with constrictions of style, and dynamic.
As the scenes, reel to feel. The rising bile again, so systemic.
An attack, on primary We don't know... and again.
Tell me, and scream it, this time...
"I don't know!"
As the recognition, is not here,and the shadows.
Only follow you around... the Redondo.
It calls back on you., that echo...
"You don't know me, either,'" says.
'Whomever.'

Gamble or ramble. It's a breath. A stroll round the block.
The stranger, has seen. Maybe many times, that smile.
The manner in with you go to the stair, and unlock...
Your prison.
He doesn't say, that he knows you.
He feels it, thoroughly lame.
An Aura of Contempt,
is as plain... as envy
there
and
empty...

"What a wicked thing,we do"... sang, Chris Issac.
His song, just now. To float along planes, of too close.
Through, and over my mind, on automatic, and, Dare not.
Go back, to read these words... and die, a little. Each day.
As others, steal... the sorted breath.
The opposite, is to give it all away.
Stay...
Till, its an empty shell.
with the key.
A feel
of
what
...
I'm sorry?

Author's Note

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Sadness is sometimes an excuse for not feeling happy when so many hurts and doubts suddenly erupt and leave a body needing understanding, a smile, a touch, an acknowledgement that a person exists, isn't invisible. Maybe we all go through that some time, maybe we all feel ourselves drowning in that terrible and lonely feeling.

There are so many turns and twists in your writing, it takes some reading .. maybe it needs careful study to feel the pain and bewilderment - it's too real to share without thought and is a compelling piece of writing.

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

Wonderful ride through the darkness of this tunnel of words that make me read again and again .. very sad .. very emotional ..the photographs , one reads 'fractured' so many humans are fractured and lonely .. and maybe we should take time to know them..give them a chance.

Chloe

[Rossen]

I was solorized
and know I can see
the one one top
Is like me.

[Ruth]

Yep lol As spoken word love, I would so feel this! Surreality, discordance amongst observation (wink lol)
Hugs
xx

[Tony]

Now I do too.
Damn You!

[An owl on the moon]

There is such a flowing, fleeing darkness in your words that grips the reader. Your vivid emotion is like a flood unleashed.. Such a poignant, moving piece.

[HorrorMaster]

Very sad poem, I thought it was good.

[deeps]

Sorry you are Sad. This is very well expressed and written out so well

[Ruth]

Bless you hon, sad?
Heres a hug for that sadness!
Although, a great piece of art has become of it lol
This is melancholy at its best
A fight with demons
Landing the reader in a strange, clouded land!
Awesome!
xx