Tormented
I can no longer suppress this deep loathing
That writhes and churns, flogs and smothers
Every loving and tender sentiment within
My sullen mind;
Once filled with vain gaiety and vain desire,
Now embittered.
Isolation can make weak even the strongest souls,
But a noose to the neck will not ease this pain,
For Death denies such true repose.
Then tell me, how can I ever be at peace,
When alive the guilt kills me so?
Copyright © Erica Rose | Year Posted 2015
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