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