My Specter

A specter sits inside my ribcage, gnawing at the bone;
a creature born of my own blood, that claims my soul its own.
It wears my eyes, it steals my voice, it inhales the air I breathe,
and plants a thousand barbed hooks beneath the skin I weave.

I am the one who crafts their harm into a beautiful noose,
the tyrant and the prisoner, who refuses to let loose.
I sharpen blades on broken dreams and press them to my wrist,
a willing victim to a wrath, that this torture shall forever exist.

In mirrors, something hollow gleams behind the mirrored lens,
a shape that knows my every fault, my sins, my secrets, amends.
It whispers venom through the dark, a slow and sickly drip,
and laughs as I swallow every droplet from its lip.

I dig my nails into my palms until the crimson flows,
addicted to the quiet thrill of harvesting my woes.
I tear apart my beating heart to feed the shadow’s appetite,
and stitch the wounds with rusted thread before the morning light.

Their malice planted all the seeds, but I delight in the decay;
this silent, self-inflicted siege, that passes time away.
I am the venom, the vein, the fever and the frost,
a sovereign of a ruined realm where I am all that is lost...

addictionpainselfrhyme

♡Like0

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.