The roaring flame inside my heart
Melts away at hope.
It finds my bridge there from the start
And burns through all the rope
The wind does shriek around my ears
While I'm perched upon the edge.
It whispers hate and whispers fears
That throw me from the ledge.
The swishing of the water sounds
As it fills the lung.
The sweetest song that makes the rounds
Never shall be sung.
Streaks of crimson across the skin
Drip onto the ground.
The blood that's shed from within
Tells me that I'm found.
YOU ARE READING
POETRY
PoetryPoems can tell a story. They can mean nothing to one person and everything to another. Read this and decide what it means for you.
