Staring at the dark.
Feeling it surround.
The cold penetrates.
And despair is ingested.
The silence is screaming.
Pushing me over the brink
  to lunacy.
I cannot bear the lose of
  my lucidity.
I am just so very tired.
The tears I swallowed 
  are bearing me down.
The silent echoes are deafening.
My full wrath is loosed upon me.
The rage is never satisfied.
Is this my end?
Will there be more of nothing?
I am so very cold.
I just want to go home.
Can I please come home?
And I no longer care.
Do not tell me who I am.
Do not tell me I am wrong.
The truth is inevitable I know.
You cannot see that it's killing me.
I might as well be dead.
Am I dead all ready?
No hope to be taken away.
I gave that up a long, long time ago.
Still it was ripped from me.
Taking from nothing leaves nothing.
Nothing I am.
Wrap me in a black leather shroud.
Drop me in the cold dark earth.
Where I will escape this living hell.
But there is no end for me.
Bury me now.
Bury me down.
Bury me drown.
With no reason.
With no why.
With no care.
Mourn no more.
Cry no more.
Live no more.
Die no more.
Sinking without within.

(Scott David Buckley-10/03/2012)

1 comment:

I'd love to know what you think of this poem.