Abstract

Heaven is an abstract idea
As abstract as hell on earth,
As the blade in my hand,
As the blood on my wrist. 
None of it is real.

I sit, 
Dark fantasies floating in and out of my subconscious. 
Abstract as the the imaginary reasons why
I have them in the first place. 
There is no excuse. 
But even that is abstract.

Follow me down a dark alley in the corner of my mind
Where incapacitated bodies look up with dark eyes
Beckoning me to come. 
But they are not real. 
Only a figment of my imagination. 
Abstract.

I didn't used to know I was different
Until I grew up.

Author's Note

Let me know what you think. Reviews and critiques welcome.

Reviews

[Briana O'Connor]

The flow of the poem was exquisite. It painted a picture of the abstract ideas. I was urged to keep reading as the lines moved on from one dark picture to the next. My one critique is that the final 2 lines are out of place. There could be a way to fit them in, but i'm not sure if they fit at all. This seems to be an unfinished work. You could go even further with this if you so wished. Keep up the good work and thank you for sharing.