At Times

Condolences to the empty shell without a mate.

I am without feelings, at times.

The words cut out from me,

leaving throats closed,

feelings lost,

eyes shut.

At times,

there are ways for me to speak,

and when I do speak, it is in hatred.

I am bitter, not have tasted sweet in years.

Thoughts are black, and I wear them,

proud and willing,

not flinching to enforce it on the word.

I do not get pleasure from insults,

I get it from results,

the rehabilitation.

It gets hard, at times.

To keep stable, to keep from

sinking.

There's never been something

to hold up the world

for me. Open the door,

for me.

I found that something,

when I spoke,

not in hatred,

but in revelations.

At times,

I have found solace

in the rhythms of an

emotion,

and the fragility of a

feeling.

To that comfort,

I plead it to

never leave,

and I continue to

beg, even

when it left.

At times, I am alone.

At those times,

I can no longer keep my eyes

open.

Author's Note

I have not left WC, I just have not had any good inspiration for prose. When prose can't come, I turn to "deep" poetry that is really just made up shit.

Reviews

[adrawerwithholes]

"I have found solace

in the rhythms of an

emotion,

and the fragility of a

feeling."

This is powerful!