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 Posted: Sun Dec 09, 2007 11:31 am
All I’ve buried inside
shoveled through the skin
Draining the color.
The ones for my eyes.
Want to take all I’ve done.
Undo it,
until its right.
Nobody knows
I color myself a martyr.
But I’ve ruined the color scheme
by running out of shades and hues.
No one steals this feeling.
It’s mine.
The tattoos,
scars,
and inverted cuts.
I want them gone.
Like love,
hate is the poison that feeds me.
It doesn’t heal me.
Only strains me
because it pains me.
In the morning
before the sun breaks free from the black sky clutch
I always feel the presence of the storm.
Mocking me.
I forfeit.
These tipped shallow souls.
When I close my eyes and sleep.
milk the nector of new passions
with no terror.
No pain.
No sorrow.
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Posted: Fri Mar 14, 2008 8:45 pm
I like the raw emotions you've put out there for everyone to see. The ending, especially is my favorite. Try to stay away from contrived rhymes like "strained" and "pained." Otherwise, its a pretty decent poem. biggrin
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