Afraid to tread in the quicksand
When I'm on my way out the woods
Afraid to let thoughts bygone
Cloud the reel of my mind.
The charming demons of the past
Tied to tasteless time; tiptoeing
Through my colorful world, a darkness void
Seeping into my pulsating heart; tearing it into shreds
Shreds that just get bigger and bigger
With each cracking guffaw, each passing tear.
Disconnected thoughts
Disjointed feelings
Dispassionate emotions.
That once had the pleasure of commanding
The whole of my attention.
When I was back there,
Back then; with my insecure heart
My thickly-dusguised envy
My dispassionate face, swiftly crumbling;
Back then, back there-
I longed to be here.
To be secure, to love myself
To stand against the crowd
To laugh and to make my crush laugh
To banish all the doubts
Adorning the inside of my skull-
Asking me if I fit
If I was funny and mature and strong enough
Or if I was breaking to bits.
And now, when I'm happy
When one half is finally kissing the rims of the other
When I'm satisfied with who I am
And who I'm not
When I'm finally having fun-
Why do they haunt me?
Why do they rule my hours of solace?
Why do they stay in there, and break my heart just a little bit more?
How does life expect you to move on
When it's feeding your shackled body
More and more fetters every moment
That link you to your sepia-tinted past-
A past you'd gladly bury alive?
Why do I still think of the time
I slipped up in front of the whole class?
(It elicited not a laugh; but a silent army of dark gazes
That smothered me like no laugh ever could)
My stomach still gives a feeble flutter
When she sits beside me
And all I find is useless litter
When I look inside me.
My eyes still dart towards my shoes
When they tell me that I've changed
And even though I've come this far
I really am the same.
My body's silently burning
In the heat of a million Suns
And when my mind with them is full
My heart aches for a gun.
And I know these ghosts are here to stay
I know this shame will last
Unless I take birth once again
And undo all that's past.
YOU ARE READING
Salt And Ink
Poetry(#1 in Poetry 14th November 2015- 14th December 2015) (5th in What's Hot- Poetry, 20th January 2016) Cover picture- grunge (WeHeartIt) "Prepared thus to close, he raised his knife, Death came later; he was stabbed by life." When my ballpoint buckles...
