It has been some time since I have found the words to speak my will,
So frustrating, I feel as if I am writing through a barrier.
Iron-cast, shut tightly, with padlocks restraining my soulhellip;
For what is kept within, it is not time yet to reveal.
I have no words.
Hysterical cries resound in my head, the only release I have from all that I feel,
GONE
The glass is thrown, paper-thin, across the roomhellip;
I scream, it smasheshellip; both it and Ihellip; we slide down the wall.
Irsquo;m wearing a tie that is tied far too tight, every word in my head is constricted,
For what I want to speak will not come loose.
Tapping at plaster that will not loosen and fallhellip;
No light snow of plaster, no cracks seem to show.
My mouth is wrapped with black tape
Masochism in poetry
Possibly the sickest scenario of allhellip;
Vile rage builds up behind my eyes,
Only a single tear dares to make its entrance from the dark holes,
Which are my eyes ndash; blue glass ndash; papery skin folds over them and hides their pain.
My arms are bound behind my back,
Irsquo;m restrained by the fear of the unknownhellip;
A lumpen sob escapes the back of my throat,
Hits the paper, slides down, is lost to the black hole beneath my feethellip;
Sucked into torment, to be moulded into devilrsquo;s shapes.
I want to write my heart down on this page,
But..
But...
l canapos;t find the back-door that lets me in.
Where has it gone?
Where have I gone?
Where is my whip of self-flagellation?
So frustrating, I feel as if I am writing through a barrier.
Iron-cast, shut tightly, with padlocks restraining my soulhellip;
For what is kept within, it is not time yet to reveal.
I have no words.
Hysterical cries resound in my head, the only release I have from all that I feel,
GONE
The glass is thrown, paper-thin, across the roomhellip;
I scream, it smasheshellip; both it and Ihellip; we slide down the wall.
Irsquo;m wearing a tie that is tied far too tight, every word in my head is constricted,
For what I want to speak will not come loose.
Tapping at plaster that will not loosen and fallhellip;
No light snow of plaster, no cracks seem to show.
My mouth is wrapped with black tape
Masochism in poetry
Possibly the sickest scenario of allhellip;
Vile rage builds up behind my eyes,
Only a single tear dares to make its entrance from the dark holes,
Which are my eyes ndash; blue glass ndash; papery skin folds over them and hides their pain.
My arms are bound behind my back,
Irsquo;m restrained by the fear of the unknownhellip;
A lumpen sob escapes the back of my throat,
Hits the paper, slides down, is lost to the black hole beneath my feethellip;
Sucked into torment, to be moulded into devilrsquo;s shapes.
I want to write my heart down on this page,
But..
But...
l canapos;t find the back-door that lets me in.
Where has it gone?
Where have I gone?
Where is my whip of self-flagellation?
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