Details |
Meg Allen Poem
When movements cease and passion turns a bore
That voice increases, louder than before.
Unravelling temptations and taunting that sting
that I promised I wouldn’t do, I’ve tried other things.
My recollection is present and erases the past
But why don’t I worry that this is going to last?
Collapsing time and merging my days,
I can’t resort to it, but there’s no another way.
The silver whispers with ease across my arm,
silencing my head and creating that calm.
In that second of crimson embracing my thigh,
I get to feel that indescribable euphoric high.
Once it subsides, leaving me exacerbated
I realise the complete mess I have now created
Endless cycles of waxing and waning and waiting for help
But things won’t change unless I do it myself
I didn’t put myself here, but only I can get me out.
I need to dig through the smoke and find the courage to scream and shout.
I need to break the cycle and control the uncontrollable
Because I refuse to lose something deemed as inevitable.
Relying on your darkness to bring you comfort, distorts the light and makes it deceiving
seeming to only help those who are good at believing.
Break that wall, brick by brick and speak your struggles, tear by tear
Sit on that couch and say all that you fear.
‘It’s just their job; they don’t really care’ silence that voice and tear it bare
Take your life back and look back and compare.
Come back stronger and destroy those letters
I promise, my dear, it does get better.
Copyright © Meg Allen | Year Posted 2025
|