My Soul
Sitting in a bleak and empty room.
Tattered ghosts lie deep within my soul.
Demons wander my mind, screaming horrifying shrieks.
Screams of pain and agony trapped behind my countless walls.
So as water stains my cheeks and fills my eyes.
These tears are the outcomes of lies is what I realize.
Standing on a frayed tightrope.
Walking in a room of burnt walls.
My bones are broken,
Yet people still call me an angel.
If I’m truly the angel they see,
Then why do these wings tear open my wrists
And this halo strangle me?
I ask myself honestly how can they see beauty in me?
Even my own eyes see nothing but flaws within my appearance,
And that I am made up of only mistakes.
I don’t even feel comfortable in my own skin.
I’m ever so heartless yet I can still feel my pulse.
So as my blood is pumped through my veins it pours from the slits buried deep within my wrists,
I feel like my oxygen is being stripped from my lungs ever so slowly,
And now this scene is quite frightening.
My broken tightrope is now lying on the floor.
A room of blood stained walls from my wounded wrists,
and up at the top of the room dangles my halo that once out-shined the moon and stars.
A charcoal color now,
And there it beneath hangs the fading remainder of my lifeless soul.
(2014)
