The horror of your desperate final act stains my mind red like your blood
I can never think of you without the image of your violent despair creeping up on me
Any inward glimpse of you forever tainted
By having viewed the sanguine results of your remorseless self-hatred
A broken soul's inner anguish exploding to the surface
Burning into the minds of all who were forced to view the aftermath
Your unforgettable despair
Cie
January 12 2007
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4 comments:
many times I dont comment, because there really is nothing to say.
I dont publish my own poetry just because, thats where I do my real writing and I may want to publish a book in the future. Like, its too important or something. Im big headed like that. Really. Truly. I am obnoxiously secure in my poetry skills.
So what would I say? I know what its like to want to cut? I know what it is to feel worthless? You know these things.
I appreciate you being raw and naked and feeling. Truth. Emotion. The most important things.
Knight,
I can't comment on poetry either. I'm like "Yeah, uh, cool, I like it, duh!"
I have a huge ego when it comes to my writing. Not like I think I'm anything special, just like I want to do it MY way without anyone telling me how it "should" be done. They can all kiss my butt if they don't like it!
If you do publish your poetry please tell me because I want to read it too!
Yeah, uh, cool, I like it, duh!
Thanks, Dusty, coming from you these are sage words!
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