Untitled Piece 1

Here is another odd little piece of poetry I came across. I don’t even recall writing this one at all. It was buried in an old folder from work.

My inner child is screaming,

My eyes just won’t stop bleeding,

I’m on the brink of euphoria,

I’m blind to my own dreams,

I’ve turned my back on society,

Sacrificed my propriety,

Laid my soul across the yellow line,

Waiting for a tanker full of revelations,

I’ve laid my self to rest,

Folded my hands upon my chest,

Osmosis draws the pain inside me,

I’m filled past overflowing,

It’s not so bad really,

Pretending otherwise is silly,

I thought pain and sorrow had no ending,

But even the sharpest knife grows dull,

When life and love lose meaning,

When young men halt their preening,

When heartbreak fades to empty,

Tranquillity is achieved,

That’s where I’ll lie waiting,

Mentally masturbating,

Prepared to expel these seeds of truth?

Perhaps they aren’t worth mentioning,

My inner child was screaming,

For a life devoid of meaning,

I drove a dagger through his throat,

Now I’m deafened by the silence.


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