The stars spread across the sky like the pain in his eyes. No light pollution just tears to subside. Hands to an X in reaction. Back wholly bound to the faction.
Muffled screams echoed Inside the walls no longer perfection. The spirit bound to constant dissension. He fights for the fists to stop. Desperately clawing for the air above but he can't raise his claim to what chains his soul to the dungeon.
World toppled with the broken rod on the ground. Can't stop it so he internalized it with every scar on his skin. Control the pain or the pain controls you. That was the way that he lived just to get through.
Sleepless nights while the world turned round, of peaceless rise into the morning sun. Start the day like any other with a blade kept beneath the embers, slowly churning.
Left behind is nothing but the whip in the rut of its last mark. Slowly the light fades to a numbness like frost bite on your mind.
Like the great divide between the heart and mind, trust and love are at war some times. Fear's invaded, an unwelcome guest that can't be dispensed with. Afraid of the unknown and what's under the bed in the dark. Fear of the smile that entices a mark. A grasp of the hope of the kindness within. Hands for holding. A good touch to the wound that had been driven so deep it doesn't know how to scab over.
He's floundered in the security of warmth with the room of regrets and pain tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. Like grafiti on the bell tower in London, it can be repainted but forever remembered.
YOU ARE READING
Spots
PoetryThe story of my life in the words I can express and for the moments I can't seem to speak.
