Below is the poem entitled Portrait Of Red which was written by poet
Ford. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Pain is just another form of medication, feeding the demons that nest inside.
A temporary fix, a band aid per say, covering the secrets I am trying to hide.
I am like the right hand to the devil, with the ability to manipulate others thoughts and emotions. Exploiting there fears, insecurities and dreams, I can flip in a split second, merely to show my complete and utter devotion.
My eyes and ears are magnified by ten, a gift to some but a burden to me. I close my eyes to try and escape for a brief moment just to feel free.
Intrigued by the sharp edges of a blade, and the power that it contains. Just a simple brush across my skin, paints a beautiful portrait of red, dripping like falling drops of rain.
I hurt myself on the outside to kill the evil that lives within. I'ts relief flowing through my veins, with a rush of instant gratification to make me grin.
The truth to any story always has an open window, it will sneak it's way through. The eyes can be read like a paper back novel, every word, every image, a tragedy but true.
I'm always aware of my situation and my surroundings, even though it appears I am not paying attention. I see all, I hear all, studying anyone and everyone requires my full concentration.
Fantasying about death and the peace it brings, oddly is what makes me smile. To finally put an end to my journey in hell, only keeps me in denial.
Overwhelmed with exhaustion at the end of everyday, I lay my head to rest. I think to myself that maybe someday, I will finally pass life's test.