Narrative Pain Poems

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Details | Narrative |
Sitting dying alone,
In this dark and dingy place 
It has now become my home..
The only open bar 
In town, I needed something to heal my broken heart
I'm on my 8th round, Going on Nine now!

Swaying on this broken bar stool
As the bartender shouts 
his “last call”, As I'm looking down
and this shuffled ground
As I try a re step my footsteps home
Walking them back In my head
But I'm a stumbling mess

My heart feels like shattering glass
I'm slowly breaking,
Sink-in, Drown-in in the dark-nest
I'm Gasp-in, For breath, Each one Hard-er
than the next!
While the whole world around me are breathing
Fine, I'm falling back into the abyss, 
Broken heart-ed 
This vodka has cut my skin so deep
This broken glass with it's hard edges
Digging, Silting into me
Tho some of my pain was self inflicting 
My heart's beat, is barely beating
That's why I'm drinking
This gin 
Now swallowed, why cant I
swallow my pride With
Dignity, I'm openly seeking darkness 
I'm sorry farther “For I have sinned”
Those sin's I've harbored
Now my hollowed soul's giving In
To that darkness....

My body trembling ,The outcome's looking bleak
I've become so weak
Shaking knees, I can barely stand up
My eye's become teary 
They say its this alcohol that's depressing me
But it's soon becoming my dependency
I'm finding hard to leave it be, I'm hooked....
...To a drip, Anything so I can get my fix
It’s another chapter I've my book
That''s needs to be ripped, Apart
Because I'm hiding be-hide a mask
My face is smiling but inside my heart is scared..

I'm writing this at night 
I'm tired... but my mind's racing fast
while my eyes are wide shut
I'm Trying to sleep..but my mind's
Not giving up..whilst
I'm lying on my friends sofa
I'm unable to get up
Morning rises but I'm slowly dying..

I'm hung over
Pondering on my life and wondering
what it would be like being sober
How can I achieve anything in life
When my only motivation is getting high
And the other half of the time
I'm crying inside 
Too depressed to write
But I wipe my tears 
But I'm still here, On my bar stool from 9 to 5!

The same broken record playing
Saying “I'm going to quit” But I'm not facing
My problems to begin with, I need a Fixative
I'm not telling myself I got a problem to be able to fix it!
Sitting here, Ripping the label off this toxic beer, bottle
I can't look at look at this mirror and face him!
Face it you hit rock bottom...
I cant believe what I have become
I wake up drunk
Where will I end up?
As I look along, A sedimentary I come a pone, A grave with my name above...

As the bar door's are now closing
My heart's ripped open Soaking
In pure emotion
Bartender “Give me two more shots”
And ill mend my way's
Not before a quick pit stop 
To get more drink from this shop
Because I'm getting sick of these sad song's that play
From the broken jukebox!
Or this it me?
And my pain that's eternal bleeding
Thinking that every sad song is talking to me?
I'm leaving.. 

Because I'm lonely
I wonder if anyone get's me?
The feeling of looking back hopelessly
At the bottom of the vodka bottle
Describing my feelings of feeling empty!
I've been here before so it can't be rock bottom

The only thing I adore 
Is my trusty red Pen that's my Savior 
It's a's my blood, That's in its ink
When it hit's the paper
It's that pain, I'm writing with!
Because that inspiration's bleeds through my veins
Just for me to scribble to words on this page
Just so I can throw them away!
Because I think anything I ever do 
Is not good enough for you..
Maybe I should do, More before I get taken away
Maybe if that ambulance had been late
I wouldn't been standing here today
But I still cant make that change

Because My vision, Impaired by the flashing lights 
Of that ambulance
So If I die, today 
At least they couldn't say 
He was just an addict
Who abused his talent...

But I'm still here I tried To drown My 
But I'm Drowning In tear's That I'll cry 

Copyright © Jamie Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
She sits alone 
She draws her knees up to her shoulders, hugging them tightly
She shivers in the icy wind 
Her teeth chatter and the stream of tears from her eyes, sting her cheeks 
As she lifts her head towards the heavens, 
Her eyes burn with pain and her piercing scream, barely human, expresses her Excruciating 
suffering and anguish

She is gripped by immense sorrow, the most powerful and destructive emotion
It roughly envelopes her, throwing her into a pit of darkness, filled with evil shadows
The shadows claw at her, ripping into her flesh like daggers
She shakes violently, tasting blood as she bites down hard on her bottom lip
But she feels no pain, her body is numb, numbed by the demons of sorrow, who, 
Are slowly overpowering her, devouring her heart 
And locking her in an eternal web of pain

She is engulfed by fear as the intense sorrow surrounding her, compresses her
She gasps for air as the merciless hands of sorrow close around her throat
She fights in her lonely vacuum, with everything she has
She reaches for her only comfort, her fingers coil around the blade
As she stretches her arms out in front of her, her void eyes gaze upon her pale skin
Her skin is etched with scars
Her scars an eternal, entwined, tattoo of her excruciating suffering
As she runs the jagged blade over her skin, its cold feel calms her
The compressing sorrow surrenders
This is her saviour, the one who can release her from this life of pure hell
Her skin begins to open, the river of blood flowing strong
Her pain is flung into the open, through her wounds, 
Leaving a sense of tranquility in her distraught heart

Her red stained fingertips caress her raw wounds
She is mesmorised by the life force flowing from her, as it paints 
Her tragic story on her body
Painful tears bleed from her eyes as regret shudders through her
She rocks backwards and forwards, lulling herself into a sense of peace
Her body is drained
As she lies back she becomes limp
Her eyes close and her whispered prayers fill the open air,
Creating the painful melody her heart sings
As she slips away

Thunder roars and the starry heavens open 
As God’s tears rain over His beloved daughter, 
Healing her wounds and piecing her broken soul back together
As the sun rises above her, 
It illuminates her peaceful expression
Her earthly father collapses besides her
His silent tears wash over her beautiful, pale face
As he lifts his dead child in his arms, 
Vicious sorrow rips his heart apart, 
Creating wounds which will never heal

Copyright © Amy Sullivan | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.

The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Home behind,
World ahead...

Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Very deep,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...

Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Singing by,
Darkness rising,
Vanishing light,
Hollow flourishing,
Going by,
World ahead,
Home behind...

Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Beyond mountains,
Beyond stones,
Standing strong,
Wandering lost,
World ahead,
Home behind,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...

Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss

April 14, 2013

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
I can hear them from here 
Their wails and cries 
I can see their tears from here 
They are the babies I wasn't bold enough to birth 

Babies my stomach wasn't strong to carry 
Babies I killed before they saw the light of the world 

They were sleeping peacefully inside me 
Growing graciously within me 
Until I took the pills 
And first it was their head
I felt as it dissolved into blood 

Each moment of pain 
I could hear them asking me 
Why Mama?
Why not give us a chance to be the best God wants us to be? 

I felt them fighting terribly for life inside me 
All I could do was to hold my stomach 
As I rounded into a ball in the corner of my sorrow
Then slowly I felt life slip out of them 
And slowly the fighting ceased in a loud silence 

As I looked down, I felt between my thighs, a fluid 
But it wasn't blood, but the dreams and Ambitions my babies could have had
All streaming down my thighs 

'My MA and PA  will scold me'
' I don't want shame all over me ' I begged 
Then like angels without wings, I saw them! All in white 
They were two beautiful boys ...

Boys I could have given the best I never had 
'I'm sorry ' I uttered 
Then slowly they turned their backs and left 
And written on the path they stood was 

(This is to children who were too perfect for the world to see)

Copyright © Abosede Ogundare | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Oh, I'd seen the sea in many ways
I heard so many lies coming from he
darkness is a playground 
for the lost and never found,

Lies is in his eyes
Lies is in his soul
Lies is all he knows 
I'd seen better days 
but that was sometime ago ,

Dying is the place of grace 
dying is to rest your head 
dying is the grave 
that holds your name
its the history of who you are,

Life was slow and sad
but Dark Angel was always glad
when someone was made
I was crying alone 
but again this is his darken throne,

He is the angel of all lies
He loves to make me scream
and give me a life of darken dreams
He loves to tell me stories 
that will make me weep,

Dark Angel is so mean 
I watch the sea turn red
I seen so many painful things
but most of all 
I would hear the lies of the dark side.

Poetic Judy Emery (c)

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
For thoose of you who may not know.
Just call me gonzo I write the absurd for life is insane and sometimes 
it takes a madman to speak the truth so very clear.

I write for the broken vacant faces that have lost all hope.
To the dreamer who's well is slowley running dry from everyone
telling him to stop wasting his time.

I write like a endless highway fueled by whiskey and wild women 
every adventure leads to pain but life is pain and i love in spite of it.

I thirst for every unseen mile the desert my brother it's people dwell
in the spirt of the west the opium parlors and brothels spirt still linger.
I write with a hint of danger and a promise of disaster.

Im a blues player whos trying to out run the devil.
Im a outlaw riding to cross the border a woman looking to the 
empty range for my return.

I write because I breath in a world were the creative air has gone 
The bottle sits apon table and I welcome any strangers company
I just rather that stranger be a warm woman instead of a 
unfriendly amigo who is a little jelouse.

Write to be more than just part of the highways landscape.
Some may call me crude crazy insane some even vulgar and 
liar and thief.
But aside from thoose compliments.
No matter what you may call me.
Dont ever forget to just call me gonzo.

Copyright © DR Robert Gonzo | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |

When I am lost and all alone,
   It’s then I turn to the Shepherd to guide me home.
When my heart gets bitter and full of doubt,
   I surrender my problems to Jesus, He seems to always work them out.
 I have been a victim of my own foolish pride,
    Not trusting in Jesus to be my guide.
Many times I have stumbled and many times I have fell,
    But that’s the good part of this story I tell.
For no matter how low in life we manage to sink,
    It’s Jesus who will always bring you back from the brink.
We are like sheep we all go astray,
    That is why we need our Shepherd to show us the way.
Jesus was the one who died for our sins so long ago,
     Redemption is ours if we ask don’t you know?
Without Jesus in our lives we would have no hope,
     And no chance for salvation or a reason to cope.
Imagine the pain He suffered that day,
     Picture it in your mind how He died such a tragic way.
Body racked with pain and longing for the death that seemed so slow,
     And being able to forgive those who did these things would have been hard for me,
don’t you know?
As I grow older in life there are things I tend to learn,
     Like the most valuable possessions you cannot buy you have to earn.
Love, respect, and friendship are a treasured gift,
     To have and to share will give you a blessed lift.

Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2008

Details | Narrative |
All alone in a bush downstream
Where not a soul was likely to dwell
Pinned against the green grasses, a young girl
Injecting her ruthlessly, a cruel hunk
At my sight, off he fled

A rape victim an innocent soul
Her mind drifts into the abyss of sorrow
As red fluid streams down her thighs
Reaching out for a nearby leaf
Just to clear off the mess

Her heart,heavy in her ribs
Up I lifted and embraced her as the 
torrent of her tears soaks through my shirt
I could hear her silent screams
As she tries to hold back the seething torrent

Holding on to her nerves,
She suffocates with each breath
For he had sucked out the life in her
Painfully, she groans 'Adieu my dignity'
Gone too soon, her virginity

Time and time again, 
As the steady stream trickles down her face,
Her lower lip quivers
Her eyes, the colour of moss and dirt
Shoveled together

As if a black mist had settled upon her
The day bright, but the torrid sun she could not feel
The sonorous song of birds, less could she hear 
Sadness, her nightingale
Tainting her joy

Inside her heart, a piercing thorn
As sharp and incisive
As the stroke of a fang
A visit to the great beyond,
Her last resort

Sharply, her pains I inhale
Sitting below my skin, 
The depth of her piercing thorn
Round her thin dark hair, my hand hovers
Just to calm her intra-personal war

'Young girl', said I then to her
Brighter than the stars, the future
For the past can you change not'
Too dark, today's night
Too bright, tomorrow's sun

To wind back the hand of  time 
And save her day, my desire
To her,  the world was lost
Off she sadly went!
Permanent joy, all but a task

Copyright © Adeniji Toluwalope Gideon | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
They are everywhere, these passers of pain;
you think they are your friend, but money is their game.

Little by little they ease themselves in, and always
bring misery, time and again.

They prey on the weak, they know the ones;
our fathers, mothers, daughters, and sons.

They are not concerned about anything, just the
money they get, for the misery they bring.

When you are hooked, "oh" they can tell, these friends
of misery, will land you in jail.

Take a long look at where you have been;
nothing accomposished  since you welcomed misery in.

Your family has now become your biggest enemy;
that's what they tell you, your friends of misery.

If you think for one minute that no one knows, just
look in the mirror at how misery shows.

You are the one that has to change; no one can do it for 
you, and you have everything to gain.

We all have choices we make everyday; the good and evil
that comes our way.

Get help, get clean, then get on with your life;
remember, read your bible, God is on your side.

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |
Buzz, Buzz,
still tiered eyes open,
She walks down stairs, packs up, and gets on the bus,
She stares out the window wishing to spend the day there and not at a desk.
7 FULL HOURS of of unempathetic teachers,
they give her 6 more hours of school work to do at home.
No one cares!

The homework starts on the bus and she's lucky to have it done by 10PM. 
Finely, she gets to go to bed,
But all she does is stare at the sealing with the overhanging stress of the work she didn't finish combined with the work her unrelenting teachers will give her tomorrow.

It happens each day,  
It's beyond her control,
she tells teachers and friends but they spit in her face telling her they don't care.
It won't change.

Luckily, she has her head on strait,
and while she trudges through the mud she stays strong,
knowing that everything is going to work out.
So she tells herself just wait.

Copyright © Emma H | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 1 first so as to get the true gist of the poem and leave your comments here on the 
Part 2 submission. Thank you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain 

Me, Myself, and I... (continued)

“Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit
		And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite
Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis”

Then “I” had an idea so grand
		To dispense with this at my own hand
A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis

So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled
		With courage newly cobbled
“I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run

With fingers fiercely fumbling
		Whilst they continued grumbling
“I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun

And now my life, though ill-fated
		Was soon to be vindicated
This would affect us all equally the same

Would be no myself or me
		No you, him, us, or we
But an inclusive all would be to blame

It took me a moment to figure
		Out the safety on the trigger
Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed

Then the barrel found my temple
		And as it settled into the dimple
A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed

Hence a moment of clarity 
		Harkened me to posterity
And I thought what a legacy to leave behind

“Can’t we all find a way
		To save this miserable day
And avoid a broken body for someone to find”

And then deep within my soul
		I felt and heard a simple drum roll
And the differing sides of me just subsided

And with my mind now as one
		I worked to get this all undone
The whole business of this stuff I derided

And tis now true of fact
		That I survived this ordeal intact
And lived to raise my face unto the sky
And here now as it ends
		I find I’ve made good friends
With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”

Thank you for taking the time to share in my poetry. Please feel free to leave your thoughts 
or comments here on this page. 

J. Scott Burns...

Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
Mommy Can You Hear Me?
I know you're not ready to raise a baby, because you're all alone now, but mommy can you hear me?
You thought he was going to stay because he made you feel as if, the feeling of your body pressed on his, was a feeling that world could't resist, but mommy just hear me

where are you going mommy, don't do it
this man isn't your friend, he wants to take me
mommy just hear me

lay your legs and spread, it won't hurt
words that were too easy to hear, words that were too familiar to your mind, words that every time was said, always transitioned to be a lie

because he left me, left me with the burden that I have to bear of killing my only child
and you doctor, you're a liar, because although it may not hurt physically, this three hundred dollars, that's going towards your check, I can feel it, in my stomach
oh gosh my stomach
this pain is sucking my babies life away
300 dollars? the price that it took to take my babies life away

would you believe these tears came alive, as if the same time these tears coming down my face, the blood coming from my veins, rushing down my leg, baby it's you
my vagina bleed your tears 
baby I hear you

but now I disgust me
because the lies, that I heard from him, you or her, did not give me the right to kill my only child
because I could of loved you
even if you were a product of a one night stand
because you would of loved me 
when the days were dark we could of ran, jumped and played in the park
made up for all the mistakes, starting with the night that I laid my back on a bed to a boy who I knew wasn't enough
how could I be so naive, to let him break your dreams of me being the best person you'll ever meet 
baby I hear you
I know sorry isn't enough, because it's messed up I never gave you a chance
but baby, I'm sorry
Can You Hear Me?

Copyright © Taisha Fanfan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
They say some girls just can’t be fixed
They say pain can always be felt
They say guys are easier to read than a novel
But who is they…
They is just a figure of speech that has no voice
No description or meaning
Any girl can be fixed or healed
All pain can’t be felt 
And reading one guy like an elementary book 
Doesn’t mean that the others are at such a low level
So why listen to the unheard voice or a song that has yet been produced
Live life full of joy and accomplishment
And surpass what the voice is saying
Living life day by day…Sunrise to sunset abundantly 
Is the only way to overcome the unheard 
What’s the word hot, cute, and sexy mean
Why is the word beautiful such a drive in a females heart
Both are heard from a human voice
Both go to the heart…but
Only what is unseen can be felt
We can’t see wind but its felt
We can’t see feelings but they pierce our bodies daily
We can’t see love yet we still feel the strength of its power
B…Because we are led to believe the unseen
E…Even though sometimes it’s so unreal
A…Associating with its uncertainty and loyalty
U…Unified and brought together what is seen and not seen to create an emotion  
T…Together growing into a feeling called love which can’t be seen let alone expressed
I…Involving two different aspects of live and making it become one
F…Fulfilling all of life’s expectations and becoming strong in what you believe
U…Ultimately overcoming all fears and disregards you may have against the unseen 
L…Love has been created  
That is why the word BEAUTIFUL is such a drive in a females heart
That is why I use it to describe what you are
Then unheard has no reward
But the unseen….has one

© Jeremy Fennell

Copyright © jeremy fennell | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
Pain drags it's long burning fingers down the length of my soul. 
Searing into flesh and bone and memory is the knowledge of crushing impact. 
Spiderwebs of molten tears streak down from top to bottom of my mind. 
Crashing into the smoldering corners of what once was my life. 
Time doesn't work the same here in hell as it does out in the light. 
I see the twisted shadow of what once was upright strong and proud. 
Broken splinters stabbing into what once was beauty and strength. 
All that's left is white hot tendrils of pain and fear forming pools of sadness.

Copyright © Scott Williams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Abusive and African-American, my late step-dad 
     was a reverse racist,
an army sergeant, a Vietnam vet and a backhand,
     face-smacking sadist.

I used to bemoan that I was a white child
     (as if it were my fault!)
and that he was black and resentful of me.
     So once in reckless revolt

against his ongoing abuse
      I rebelled under my breath
by calling him the "n" word (and he
     nearly beat me to death).

Beaten, I never uttered that word again.
     Then Mom and he divorced
as I got older (which made things only worse);
     free at last, I felt no remorse.

Suddenly, I was the man of the house and life
     for us seemed less stormy;
for the first time in years we lived in happiness.
     At last, we were a family.

Then I got religion and met God
     and gave my life to Christ.
It was the best thing I ever did:
    I was born again, and it sufficed.

My anger, pain and bitterness which
    I had for years repressed
began to slowly disappear; and so I became
    less and less depressed.

By now, my former step-dad had grown old
     and had swelling of the lung;
I had not forgiven him yet back when
     I was still angry and young.

I could not forgive him for the abuse that
  made my life so utterly grim;
but I realized that the weight and burdens
     of not forgiving him

would be worse than what I've endured. I know 
     in life we all sin and transgress 
and come short of God's glory: so, moved by
      God's grace and forgiveness

I made up my mind to forgive him.
     A daily, ongoing process,
I was able to finally begin to let go of the anger 
      and truly begin to forgive the mess
that I had inherited from him. And I was
      able to begin forgiving God;
He was not to blame for my step-dad (who was also 
      beaten by his parents' lash and rod).

Though I was forgiving him and letting go, he was
     unmoved and unchanged as ever;
I had realized that what mattered was that my forgiveness
      had been changing me forever.

When he finally died, I had already completely
      let go and he was forgiven;
Now I can only wonder to God whether he had
      been changed by his view of heaven. 

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
        Sweet Mother of pearl
struck a ruby eyed reef 
then quickly sank into the deep,
just shy of the cay of life. 
Don't remember much about her,
those that did have long since blown away,
daddy  never had much to say... about the sinking.
Ancient pictures tempered fawn curiosities..
whispered to me that she had sunset red hair
a mother of pearl smile..
diamond chips set deep in lonely eyes...that's about it
 Soon after the sediment of death settled,
         "wrecking ball mom"
swung into the salty blue mix... 
Daddy must have been moon rock lonely
because he only saw the soft, silky pretty
not the pyrite heart 
soul licked
by cold, cold fires....
     A much to young, to cuddle a half orphan, kind of bride.
In public her voice cooed ,
"I'll buoy your little sinking heart,
with a million butterfly kisses
chocolate chip all your wishes"...
but in private
she plotted, with steely strap, to carve a granite man 
from a wandering lamb,
who never really needed carving 
only a little gentle kneading
on the potters wheel of life and love.
     I spent a healthy wedge of childhood 
treading a rolling ocean of dorsal fin coldness:
cutting a backyard full of weeds 
with a pair of rusty hand shears,
rescuing favorite toys from the garbage can
staring into plates of things I didn't like to eat.
like asparagus my least favorite "anti-treat".
Everyone would drift into the living room
to frolic away the evening
but I was chained to her electric chair... 
gazing into a saucer filled with those green devil spears..
At times I sat so long the food would harden 
into the face of  mother of  pearl, 
her sweetness trapped between rows of bitter things.. 
a gone forever kind of look in our mutual deadened eye.
    Most of the time wrecking ball mom won the food battles. 
Rarely did the boy under the bed come out on top.
One night I'm sparring with the devil spears... again,
deciding on a whim, to slide them under the table, 
into the willing jaws of my beagle friend.
Chalk one up for the half orphan...right?....Not so fast.
The next day I shuffle home from school...
wrecking ball mom is frothing in the doorway,
wants to show me something..
She quickly leads me under the kitchen table
and to my ,deep green, horror..
there lay a small forest of day old asparagus..
Seems this is the one thing my best friend didn't care for.
This is when I was first introduced to 
wrecking ball's wicked handiwork,
that would often rouge the face and back, 
but cunning enough not to crease or crack the lamb.
I saw "hitting stars" for the first time,
wham.... wham.. 
I swear a cluster of explosions went off inside my head..
Carving a man out of a paper lamb 
was a long and painful sort of task.
In a way I felt lucky because, for a moment, 
I thought she was going to rub my nose into the regurgitation, 
Just like the time she rubbed the nose of my best friend for pissing up her new bride carpet.
By the way, daddy (the swing shifter) was oblivious to these rougings ...
its ok daddy your fully forgiven for wearing that rose colored hard hat,
we all must wear it at some point in time-to deflect the offal of life.
       Anyhow, that was many years ago...
doesn't really matter anymore,
I've outlived a few best friends.
the wrecking ball's backhanding and black belting days are over. 
She's silver headed and soft as a plate of over cooked veggies...
Every time I visit, I fantasize about rouging her...
wham- wham
until she sees that same pack of hitting stars...
wham- wham until she cracks...
You know, carve an old step bride 
into an under the sink child.
rub that nose in yesterday's piss in honor of my best dead friend.
Unveil those wrinkled whips disguised as mommy hands,
for the whole rosy eyed world to finally see.
but that fantasy will forever go unfulfilled...god willing..
So instead I offer her an atlantic ocean-cold hug instead.
just like any good, semi-forgiving step man would do.
Now, I'm heart deep 
in the meloncholy mist of fatherhood..
To this day, I won't touch asparagus
never never 
rouge the lamb- 

Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
It's 3:00 am and you're still up
You haven't slept in days
But what's the point anymore?
Why shut your eyes and dream of a better life?
Or close them to escape reality?
Why show your underserving self the slightest bit of peace?
Or rest your mind when you know the demons will greet you the moment your eyes flutter open? 
Why even try to shut up your mind for a few hours with silly rest? Even when asleep, your mind will traumatize you, keep you stirring around until you wake up drenched with sweat...or is that tears?
People say you look sleep-deprived. What are you going to tell them? Your favorite tv show was on late last night..
Sure, that'll work
But what will you say when your skin is now an unholy hue of yellow and teachers wonder why you aren't home with a fever?
Oh, just let me tell you
Although those dark circles surrounding your clouded, blood-shut eyes, can make it look as if you got into a fist fight, you don't look strong; because you aren't.
They say eyes are the windows to the soul, and perhaps that's why no one can see you're screaming and trapped inside. Suffocating. Drowning in your own thoughts. Because everyone is so distracted by the the smile plastered upon your face to see that the light and every living morsel has leaked from you.
You can't summon the strength to get out of bed and you can't even raise a finger to take a pill that will make you feel new, make you feel like a mannequin on display for the world. 
You don't understand the use for them. By time they wear off, the voices always come back whispering the truth that everyone refuses to tell you. 
It's 3:00 pm and your friends have invited you out. Together, you all laugh, but the demons still sit on your shoulders and you know that you don't deserve to laugh. Happiness isn't a word in your vocabulary. It's too bad, isn't it? Because you could be happy, you don't have to be the depressing friend. You could be pretty, and have a real smile, but youre addicted to be a certain kind of sadness.
It's funny, isn't it?
It seems months ago you were being criticized for just being too much. 
Sleeping too much
Eating too much
Too dramatic
Too sensitive.
Oh, but now your parents can't even look at you and the moment they sense your presence they tense and look pained.
Because now all you are is a lost soul.
You aren't enough
You don't get enough sleep
You don't eat enough
You are numb, monotoned, and lack qualifications 'normal' humans have.
People joke about how much you zone out and how your sense of style consists of sweaters in summer, but you don't laugh with them.
They pass you and your glazed eyes in the school halls and joke around, muttering "420" down the back of your neck, making sure to keep hush because the worst thing that they can imagine in their life is getting caught by a teacher, but again you don't laugh with them because the glaze that films over your tired eyes is caused from the tears that threaten to spill any second. 
And when it's midnight again, and you're attending a party; already on your 5th vodka. People surround your body, but your soul is no where near. It's far away. Buts it's okay, it isn't the first thing to abandon you. 
And when the cute boy that has been chatting up your worthless self all night, whispers in your ear unintelligible words and leads you down an unfamiliar hallway, you don't resist. 
It's when you pass a mirror and you see a wide grin upon a face you don't feel, a face you can't control, and you don't recognize yourself. That's when you try to pull away, but it's too late and- just like most of the time- you are helpless. 
You are wasted- mentally, physically, and literally, but all you do is pick up another bottle. 
And as your corpse of a body is being taken advantage of, all you can think about is your parents, and your siblings. And you hope your younger brother won't grow up praying to pass in his sleep or by an accident just as you wish upon yourself. You hope he doesn't fall in love with a girl who doesn't reciprocate that feeling. You hope he follows his dream of being a scientist. You hope he has a hope he doesn't turn into you...
How is it someone's arm may be draped around your bare chest, yet you still feel so alone? 
And before you know it, your cheeks are stained with tears and your eyes are rubbed raw.
It's 3:01 am and you're still up

Copyright © Corinne Meicher | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Ilang milyong hakbang na ang aking nagawa
Payak na yapak, sa lansangan buhay ay tinahak, 
Bitbit ko ay Ginebra, pamatid-uhaw sa pagal na kaluluwa
Nagbabakasakaling mapawi nito ang hangaring guminhawa.

Wika nila: 'Tamad ka kasi Juan, magsumikap ka! '
Ano ang akala nila, ako ba'y nanatiling nakatunganga? 
May pamilya ako, iha, hindi ko ninais ang bigyan sila
Ng primera-klaseng buhay ng isang dukha! 

(Humagulgol si Juan at humalakhak pagdaka...) 

Pasensya ka na, iha, ako ay nadala ata
Ng ispiritu ng dyaskeng Genebra, 
Di yata't malabnaw na ang pagkatimpla
Di mapawi nito ang uhaw sa minimithing adhika! 

Simple lang naman ang aking hiling
Bigyan pa ako ng Poon ng lakas na makapiling, 
Dyaskeng pita ng laman kasi, binigyan ako ng siyam na supling
Ngayo'y hirap ako'ng handugan ng siyam na platong kanin! 

Mali kung mali, naandyan na 'yan
Hindi ko na sila maibabalik sa pantog ko't laman, 
Pagsisisi ay wala sa akin, na sila'y nakamtan
Handog sila ng Poon upang ako'y pahirapan! 

Hindi nga ba? 

Nakikita ko ang di pagsang-ayon sa iyong mga mata...
Bakit hindi gayong pinili ko ang buhay meron sila? 
Na dapat ay hinay-hinay ko sana ginawa
Upang hindi humantong sa ganitong sistema.

Ahhh...Hala, ako'y yayao na
Salamat sa pakikinig, iha
Kahit paano'y binigyan mo ng halaga
Ang sintemyento ng isang dukha.

(Alay kay Juan, na namataan ko sa daan...) 

Inner Whispers

Copyright © Inner Whispers | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
I wonder how he's doing: if he's in the final throes?
I haven't seen him lately and there is no way to know.
I've heard he has a cancer in his lungs and in his brain.
I sit here and I pray that he's not in a lot of pain.

I used to plead quite often, when we were both still friends,
To end the smoking habit, before it ended him.
He would sneer and look at me like I was in disgrace,
Then laugh and blow a cloud of smoke directly toward my face.

Years went by and love evolved, as love will often do,
Then came the day I didn't care, if he smoked till he was blue.
The coughing every morning, deep hoarseness in his throat,
The clearing of his windpipe nearly every time he spoke.

His clothes and hair all reeking with nicotine and tar.     
Far worse still, than even this, when trapped within his car.
There came a day I finally left because in my despair;
I felt I had to find a place where I could breathe the air. 

I know it sounds that I have chose to keep myself immune:
Exempt from having empathy for one who’ll die so soon.
But I refuse to feel the pain of losing him again,
To the real love of his lessened life: his pale and slender friend.

And now there's little left to say, as he fights his final fight.
I’ll never say, “I told him so” . .  I'm just sorry I was right!

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Memoirs of one unloved

I hear them refer to me as “it” or “the fetus”
Some underdeveloped miniature human, with no established status
For I am trapped in some fluid, apparently I know nothing
But, as strange as it may seem, I do suspect something
I cannot tell my senses apart or at all open my eyes
But I can detect outside of me a piling up of blatant lies
Disturbingly chaotic and deafening sounds I clearly hear
But they seem so far from one, yet closer to the other ear
How is it that I am able to point out what I feel?
Why do I get a foretaste of the world, when I’m a captive still?

Yes, you’d better believe your ears, I said, “captive”
I am afraid that in comparison to my carrier I am more responsive
For this seemingly young lady who claims to be with child
Expresses to me emotions that are anything far below mild
So the word mother surely does not apply in this case
It’s implied that it is better for me never to have existed in the first place
The insensitive words daily uttered by her literally send me balling over
She repeatedly does sit and only between two things hover
“Would it be a wise decision if I kept it?
Or should I rid of it and rather figure out how I can get back on my feet?”

Well the object she is referring to, is me
Her so-called destructive child-to-be
Then again, I wouldn’t burden her with the blame
Seeing that a situation such as hers is considered a great shame
An act that is socially and morally seen as highly abominable
Simultaneously makes me feel unwanted, a child so hideous and deplorable
Since when is it a mother’s first instinct to be so contemptuous?
Clearly of the feeling known as love is she not conscious

Oh, wait, apparently aware of love she is
But only when she looks deep into his eyes, love she sees
Not when she feels me move inside of her, no never!
Sometimes I wander, “love me, will you ever?”
At the same time I wander, “why bother keeping me alive?”
It truly is a struggle, for to stay alive I solely strife
When it feels like alcohol gushes from wherever into my system
Cigarette smoke from him blocking my lungs become an unbearable problem
Obviously, none of them care
The beginning of my life is marked by all things highly unfair

And him — don’t even get me started!
By now, I’ve memorised all the words he’s blurted
All his insults are now engraved in my once innocent mind
Truly speaking, in his voice, apathy is all you can find
I am partially disabled by his emotional numbness
And so is she, oh what an experience of sheer distress?
I would rather soon very swiftly disappear
And on the other world of nothingness reappear
For he slabs her and throws her around as he pleases
And for a moment the woman who ought to be my mother ceases

To seek a hiding place, safe and secure
To find for her heartache a temporary cure
But then the cycle begins again
And by the end, once again, not much did she gain
He hurls insults at her and once again, slabs her the face across
He overpowers her always and she is at a loss
For words, and only her tears speak of her anguish
If all this could go away, oh how I wish?
If only there’d be a moment of peace
If only for a moment, however short, everything would freeze

Just when I think my wish is going to be fulfilled
An even colder rush of naked Reality into me is instilled
He screams loudly “get rid of it or I leave!”
And she on the other hand, gasps for a moment brief
The verdict has been decided upon
But this time around, she tries to reason with him, “Please, come on”
To listen to her, he stubbornly refuses
For he cannot by a lady be in any way refuted
So now I am in the middle of all this
The two people who are supposed to protect me with their all are these

I have not yet stepped foot into the world but it seems twisted
The two who are to be united are against one another listed
Now I get the point very sharply
I got in the way of their happiness haply
In all honesty, I didn’t mean to exist
Then I suddenly feel him pulling her by the wrist
There, my thoughts are interrupted, as I sense a moment of rough wrestling
For the manner in which her body is shaken resembles no sort of nestling
I feel forceful Gravity mercilessly pulling us toward her
Our bodies fail to defy her, and I for one, disappointment I wear

How could he be so heartless?
To the point of knocking her out cold, almost lifeless
The unrest was born the moment I got here
So I’m leaving that they will be of good cheer
I have no idea whether I’m volunteering
But I sense that the fluid which I know as home, red is turning
Yes, I think they both stabbed me in the heart
The nameless, unloved object can no longer bear the hurt
I would be lying if I said anything of this world I’ll miss
Fare thee well, please do now without me enjoy your life of bliss

Copyright © AJ Lekobane | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
In Dunkersfield Lies A Neglected Grave

In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
 last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got

Town people say they knew him so well
 had big secrets he'd never dare tell
One was about a child he'd never seen
 bastard son of a lady named Ilien

Others solemnly swear he kilt' a man
 beat him with that mighty right hand
Hard truth lies somewhere in between
 his life imagined and one he had seen

Ole Stoner Ace was a gambler for sure
 had lots of women, none were too pure
Worked that farm, won on a lucky bet
 hard life even for a tough combat vet

No church did he ever bother to attend
 lived alone with not a single friend
Money sent to pay for nephew's school
 kept his secrets, was nobody's fool

Christmas night he died old and alone
 his savings given away, every penny gone
Good deeds he always kept to himself
 bad maybe but he always was topshelf

In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
 last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got

Robert J. Lindley,  01-23-2015

NOTE:  Poem was written based upon the real life of a friend's uncle. 
A tough old bird that had quite a reputation. Lived a wild life as young man 
and had served time in prison for beating a man to death that had stabbed him in 
the back in a barfight. My Dad knew him well. Told me that he was an upright guy 
that came out of prison and left the wild life behind.
Sometimes life just beats the hell out of you and if you are lucky you still
manage to survive!

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
An angel formed from 
lake of purity,a gift to 
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the 
garden of the elves.

Sent to earth,made an 
abode in a gentleman's 
heart,whom she 
cherished and loved.

As time travelled,another 
fella whom she trusted 
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of 
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost 
snuffed,she feared the 
love of her true love 
would be lost. Alas! bond 
of love is indivisible.

Shattered,with a broken 
spirit she tries to mend 
the pieces....on the 
shoulder of her lover she 
leans,hoping to soothe 
her bruised heart.

A true story,a close 
pretty lady friend of mine 
was raped by her family 
friend yesterday...who 
called her and told her 
his mum was very sick.
She called me and 
confided in me .
Don't know whether to 
encourage her to call the 

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
I hate it when they thought I thought,
I feel pain for portraying a clean portrait,
Life is like a tray,share your cake to invited guest,
Painted pictures envisage the true figure.
Lights in the day even when darkness rule in dawn as a don,
Night of day my  sincerity is torn like a used toilet worker-
-surrendering to dirty papers.
Fear is a mastermind if you are so  scared,
Men are killers stricks when you lean on their steps,
God is a faithful father in his care I lie on.
If I prefer a chain of gold ,
Doesn't mean I like pearls.
If I'm a glittering diamond,
I was once elusive though.
Slowly I frozed at this tone,
I knew better than I taught,
I thought better than I taught,
No love as they thought.
Lovely pain beyond imaginations,
Sequence of life record play,
Standing alone is my man of my own,
Stressing the noon day,
Has reward in the hazy time.
Take me wrong I feel calm.
At times an affectionate love can be weird,
Crazy out of reality but more fantasy I hear,
Cheers to my pain of reality,
My chains of the shady truth,
To the infirmity of the day of JOY....

Copyright © timilehin obisakin | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
Disgust, abhor and frown
has burried me deep down,
"Black Black", they call me so,
whenever they try to show me low!

If this is the world, where shall I go?
Has has my complexion brought me no friends but all foe?

With these burning eyes, I have seen,
how happy and pleased they have been,
when that white boy, joined their team;
their response to me was clean...
They threw me out right then,
tearing my heart apart; shattering my spleen!

Disgust, abhor and frown 
has burried me deep down,
"Black Black", they call me so,
to prove me worthless and low,
not only did they dismantle my feelings,
they also burried my soul...

Copyright © Jaima Jahan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
A total Jedi mind f*ck from Hell is what this is. I feel like a nuclear bomb has exploded in 
my mind of Hiroshima proportions and I am on the brink of a Chernobyl meltdown. 
Bewildered may be the best description of what I am feeling right now. I cannot process 
anything; I feel like I am in total and utter f*cking shock. I apologize for the expletives; 
I normally never curse when I write because I find it uncouth, but I have to get these 
feelings out; I know if I don't, I will want to cut, which is the last thing in the world I want to 
do. God knows I have enough scars; I don't need or want anymore.

From great pain comes great inspiration, I believe. Even though my mind is positively 
reeling at this very moment as I type, I feel exponentially inspired. I am completely 
overwhelmed emotionally, and I have just now stopped sobbing and weeping enough to 
write; to get these horrid feelings out of me.

Even the smallest of troubles or strife turn into absolute tragedy and catastrophe in my 
mind; I cannot help or control it, and God knows I wish I could. I "catastrophize" everything.

My best friend of 15 years just called me and told me she was moving to Alabama. I 
shouldn't even say "best friend" for she is more like a sister to me. Always, always she 
has been close by and been there for me as I have been for her, and now she is moving 
what seems like galaxies away from me, and the pain I am feeling is so tremendous and 
shocking; so unnerving and vexing and tormenting and afflicting...I could go on forever 
with melancholy and exasperating adjectives and descriptions. In my mind, she is dead 
and I am hosting the funeral in my brain. That's totally insane; I understand that, but at 
this moment I am NOT rational. For a moment after I stopped crying my eyes out, I 
almost felt catatonic. In my partner's arms, I just wept as he held me; I was shaking 
and shuddering furiously. I feel lost. I haven't felt this powerless or helpless since my 
grandparents died. She is moving away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am 
a horrible and selfish human being for I want her to stay, so desperate do I feel. 
Wendy, my sister, my best friend, my partner in crime; my cohort, consort, comrade, 
co-conspirator: you who know me best, inside and out, like a are leaving me,
and my sorrow is swallowing me whole- devouring me like an angry, rabid beast. Don't 
go; don't leave me. With every fiber of my being I wish you to stay, but you've made up 
your mind and told me your decision at the worst possible time, when I am already too 
stressed to deal with or process this kind of pain and anguish in a healthy way. I'm ready 
to hit the bottles: whisky and Lortab. They will ease the pain and will quell the compulsion 
to cut.

This is the most personal blog I have written. I didn't know what else to do but turn this 
despair into words to help ease the heartache and suffering. If anyone cares, I need 
support right now. I need prayers and well wishes and good vibes; I am about to crumble 
to pieces. I feel like the proverbial rug has been pulled out from under my feet and I don't 
know what to do. This is the worst feeling in the world. Uncertainty is truly the worst of all 


Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
He last had a pal in the 7th grade,
 They shared a class from the 1st grade.
 And together, for Home Economics,
 they were always late.
 But the seventh grade showed up, in its
 claws it held their un-anticipated fate.

 For death's heartless might had
 snatched away the pal's dear moter,
 The lad watched as he packed the
 boots that both their feet knew.
 Off he went to unknown horizons.
 "I will write", is all he said.
 And so, at the post office,
 the lad became a familiar face.
 "He never forgot me", he convinces
 his lonely self everyday.

 The 12th grade is his current stop.
 He recently acquired a harmless infection-hope.
 So, while he dejectedly kicks innocent pebbles
 in the streets he's quite hopeful that the other lad, his pal,
 will write..........or maybe tweet.

 Word has it, though, that the pal was
 seen somewhere.
 He was wearing a black suit...
 Word has it also that he couldn't make a conversation.
 Instead of his trademark smile,
 solemnity had found a home in his face.
 There he was, stone dead.

 "Maybe, just maybe, he will write",
 thinks the nameless lad as he kicks a
 couple of innocent pebbles while he threads
 on one rugged path towards home.

 And tomorrow he's going to the post office.

Copyright © Cebelihle Mbuyisa | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
I saw a look of hurt so primordial, the dust teared and cleared
Every wrinkle, every agony,
Every twinkle in his eye hopelessly wrought by words
He struggled with a bag of old books,
His white hair scraggly, his breathing heavy

I, with sorrow wrenching from my soul,
Sought his own, in a sad smile that he so feverishly caught

Moments passed, as the older man disappeared,
But I sat there, ready to speak to him if he should return
For such a catch in the eye
Cannot soon dim and die with chance

He returned swiftly,
“Excuse me, will you be here long?”
I said, “Sure. What is it?”
He looked into my eyes and smiled,
“Would you mind watching my books for just a bit?
My clarinet is in the building, I need to go fetch it from a friend.”

“Sure,” Said I. “No problem.”

He thanked me, setting the bag down near me
And walked with confidence to the building,
To retrieve his instrument

I pondered his life, the pain in his eyes,
And for a moment wondered how it might compare to mine
This old man, struggling with a massive bag of books,
An even greater weight pressing upon his practiced brain
A brain filled with the pure notes of a mechanism that soars

He returned almost joyously, thanking me once again,
Relaying to me his previous sufferings,
Unkind, uncouth words,
In his mind, sure and inerasable
 “Have you ever been treated so ill you wished to die?
Have you ever felt that little?
Felt so powerless, and failing?
Surely I must be boring you. . .”
When his countenance calmed and I reassured him,
 Offering my sympathetic ear,
 And many a sensitive nod, 
He asked my name before leaving forever

“Ah…do you know the song ‘Laura’?”
He hummed the tune and I beamed, nodding,
Remembering the haunting melody
It was as if he was anticipating that nod,
That he knew I recognized such a strange, haunting tune
By his happy, alighted smile

So when he went on his way,
With his heavy bag of books,
And his clarinet tucked safely in his black box,
Our pains sauntered on to less fortunate fellows

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
It was her birthday she was turning thirteen.

It was a fun day until her father asked to baby sit for his new friends so they could all go 
out  to party.

She was scared that day she didn’t know why. She had babysat for other people before, 
but for some reason this was different. She just felt weird.

As they were driving to the location, her father was telling her, about the people she would 
babysit for were new to the area and didn’t know anyone.

“But dad, I really don’t want to. It’s my birthday. “She just wanted to cry. Why she had to do
 this she couldn’t understand.

After being dropped off and meeting the parents, she thought maybe she was being silly and
 they were good people. After the parents had left to the party, she got the kids ready for bed, and fell asleep waiting for everyone to get home.

The man woke her up with his hand on her shoulder and he was telling her to get ready he 
will take her home. He was telling his wife that it would take him a couple of hours to get her
 home and to get back. She thought about that, it didn’t seem to take her dad that long to 
drive to their home. Now she was getting scared again.

Driving back she could not talk. Even when he spoke to her she just sat scrunched in her 
seat trying to make herself invisible.

“What’s wrong with you? Can’t you talk? “He was demanding. It seemed to make him mad 
because she would not answer him.

All she could think was please God help me get home, when he turned the car into the hills
 where the woods started. She finally found her voice. She sat straight up in the seat and 
screamed. “Where are we going this is not the way home?”

He started laughing and when she tried to open the car door he grabbed her and hit her 
in the face. She was knocked out. When she woke he was on top of her, and she was crying 
but it did not do any good. Then his hand was around her throat, “I will kill you and your 
mom if you tell anyone. You will die.”

After he was done with her, he took her home and dumped her on the sidewalk.
 He threw money at her and left. She wanted to be removed from life. To be no more!

Dear Lord,

Please remove me

I want to be no more

The time has come

To make me blank

Here I am

Stuck in the mud

Where have you gone

Where am I now?

Stuck in never never land

The years go by

The pain never stops

The rose won’t bloom

The miles go around and around

Head spins

Struggling for years

Now the children are gone

And  what I knew was wrong

When death came between us

So I ask

One last time


Brooke Dylan 2014

this is in answer to Poet Aiyah De Torres .. Dear Diary

Copyright © Brooke Dylan | Year Posted 2014