with hollowed out hearts they traipse the halls
secrets locked away behind flesh and blood doors
there are eyes watching in and amongst the brick and mortar
chatter and whispers and
the sense
of being
sought out
they seek out the ones who still live
biting their nails and stroking their skin
confined to a mortal metropolis
where the shackles are bones
where veins bounce out at the lowly prisoner
where mercy is like the sunshine-
non-existent.
spirits of the lost
the vacant
the estranged
wander about in the corridors
solace never found
they laugh and hiss at the watching eyes
the floating hands
the ginger steps
and fear is foreign once again
hollow talk inside a hollow heart
and a crown made out of an unsteady pulse
when will their wander find completion?
ask them if you dare
for they traipse about these old bones
seeping out into the cold dredged-up air
[momentary inspiration needs little contemplation] p.t
YOU ARE READING
A Sense Of Healing
PoetryI let myself bleed onto these pages in the quiet hope that someone might open it up, skim along the words, and see my name hidden in the bloodied letters. So open up, brave soul- witness the scars and cracks in the pages of my conscience, vi...
