I feel like crying. I want to feel the smooth silver gliding against my skin-denying. I want to see the beads of red following it. To watch it slowly drip...drip...drop to the floor as I lay against my perfectly perfect pearly white door. Drip...drip...drop the blot goes as it flows to the sandy wood below. Drip....drip...drop it echoes as I feel its icy tone grasp my warm toes.
To feel a small soldier against smothered roams as he drip...drip...drops down the cliff and hits the rocks that groan….oh no! Drip...drip...drop the voices never stop and there my mind will go.
It feels like a heavy cloud, dark and blue. Waiting for the raindrops to fall. Drip...drip...drop it groans and blows. Drip...drip...drop it echoes as I feel the time passing in my broken, bruised bones. The storm that brews is the one that bones and the one that bones is the one that groans. I want to fly against those damp, damp clouds. To hear the drip..drip..drop of its reluctant pound-cake! Oh to dine with that rain! To eat crumpets and grains as it pangs with pains.
Drip...drip...drop… round and round the clock. I want to scream but the voices never stop. They howl and holler, making me smaller. Forcing my head to the ground. Bums up, hounds down. Drip...drip...drop it scowls as it playful slops and splots the trees. Splattered blood at the knees. Oh to live is to live but never to be. Drip...drip...drop the mouse goes round the clock. The clock strikes twelve and demons delve. Drip...drip...drop the mouse goes splot to stir the pot. Voices never...stop….
Pick and groan, prick and moan. Drip...drip..drop. I’m slowly losing my spot. My mind goes round and I hit the ground, but nothing matters but that stupid, fluid, drip...drip...drop.
My mind whispers its plot. It’s dark and deep and I will lose sleep, but oh that lovely drip...drip...drop! It sure knows how to walk. Claws for hands, hands with plans, and nothing matters but that drip...drip...drop. Drop...drip...drip my mind begins to split. The headache grows and I bow low, but all I can see is that stupid, fluid, drip...drip...drop.
Drop...drip...drip my mind hits the split split and that drip...drip...drop makes me lose my spot. I hurt my brain and it calls my name...what is a name? Oh well. Drip...drip...drop. Don’t stir the pot. I feel insane but all I’ve known is the pain that is gained from that peaceful, leaseful, drip...drip...drop.
YOU ARE READING
Growing Pains
PoetryThe cool metal ran along their hand like a blanket of snow; cold, light, blank. To think that such a blade could end something so precious - so beautiful, within seconds. How could someone do so with no hesitation? Perhaps it is the thought of reli...
