My heart is stained red.
Covered in scar tissue.
It beats with silence.
But screams on the inside.
It is torn from the torture.
And is bleeding out.
The pain is insufferable.
Tears cut caustic wounds.
They infect my soul.
I swallow the poison.
That I breath in.
A broken arrow pierces my mind.
It slices just like a knife.
I hear whispers through the cracks in the floor. 
This is the prison that I live in.
I created it myself.
Six walls surround me.
No windows with bars to let the light in.
And no door that gives hope of freedom.
I huddle in the corner shaking.
My face hidden.
My fingers gouge holes in my eyes.
Blinding me from the inside out.
I sink down within myself.
My tongue ripped out.
Leaving me with no voice.
I am alone with my madness.
I hear the voices that are not there.
Voices of despair.
They run me through.
Letting the darkness surround me.
The cold entombs me.
As I fall asleep.

Scott David Buckley-(05/08/2012)

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