Closure

and the dark apex of the poison

Green eyes.

Vivid green eyes.

 

Every blink is slow motion

Every breath is counting until the next

Every pulse -

One more pulse towards the end.

 

The mirror is cracked.

The eyes blink again.

Vivid green eyes.

Breathing shallows.

 

Looking back

Nothing makes much sense

That part has already been blurred

The past is just a tally of breaths

The past is just a sum of blinks

 

Breathing begins to sound harsh.

Looking forward

Just the Vivid green eyes.

Slowly they blink again

 

Looking down.

The empty bottle.

Between two shaking hands.

 

How could anyone be ready for this?

 

Looking forward again.

The eyes have been painted with sorrow.

The vivid green has turned sullen and charred.

Regret pours from the eyes in a rush of tears.

 

Breathing has left the harsh stage.

Now there is only gasps of blood.

 

The blood taints and mars at the mirror.

 

Looking down.

The hands quiver violently.

 

Pain.

Darkness.

 

The eyes are gone.

so vivid.

so green.

 

The only way to look is up.

But not to heaven.

To a cracked and damaged portrait of life.

 

but the portrait

 

is merely an empty canvas.

Tattered and in ruins.

 

Blood chokes.

Breaths are no more.

One more pulse closer.

 

One more pulse until closure.

 

And darkness reigns supreme.

 

In this

This forsaken hollow of my mind.

 

This is where

Where i face the dark apex of the poison in my blood.

 

Alone.

 

This is where I die.

 

 

Author's Note

I get dark when i do solid poetry. really dark. no idea why.

Reviews

[PhoeniX]

if this was dark, man was it good. so intense. kinda scary at a point. great write

[-Adam-]

I am the same way. I have not put any of them on here yet, most are just heart-break. I really liked this poem though. I don't know your side of it, but I got a very clear view of what the poem mint in my own way. If you know what I mean. Good write!

[Tai Chi Italy Take Two]

The place you speak of is ours alone my friend! no one can accompany us to such as is our darkest place but to die is to be re-borne into the light of the realisation that perfection is an impossibility and we will aways make mistakes, all we can hope for is to not repeat them. I understand what you mean about solid poetry, it just pours from the darkened soul, but it makes room for light. Wishing you a wonderful day, LLB