Urge
The urge to real-ease empties and dulls
Lights in a ram-parted brain flicker on and off
Water flows down a familiar trail down the face
As the shades of gray under the eyes darken
Those sad, tired bags…ridiculed by the winds
Sagging as more rubbish is seen, felt and heard-
Through the always open pane…
A darkness like none other felt pervades so near
But never quite touches the core
It tingles the senses with malignant reservation
As thoughts melt in self-abhorrence
Crawling so pitifully into the ears of mechanical beholders
Cloudy skies that look down upon
But never rain
Worlds destroyed—hearts tightened to drain
Inhalation is shuddery as sobs retain
Mountains of energy on degrading alone
No one should feel this sickening despair
But it is the very self—it permeates the very air
Tumultuous tempests cry out some unexpressed woe
Coldness traces its masterpiece from head to toe
Emptiness dwells like sin within the most overlooked crevice
And terrorizes the last dust of hope dwelling inside
Bottled up and sent away far
The mind flees to happier days where sunsets set for fear of panicked night
Then to dreams—fantasies—nightmares—–nothing…
As we lose who we are…
I have felt the sting of grimace skewer my very bones
And they still rattle from the impact
No one can take this solitude away
No one shall get close enough to kill my heir
You will never feel the sting of grimace skewer your very bones
But you will rattle like a skeleton on strings
And the impact—the darkest urge
Shall mute the cheers
And welcome self-jeers
An heir bequeathed
By the dullest…emptiest
Urge
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
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