A poem based on “if the owl calls again”
If I hit a low again In the witching hour
from the dark room where I lay awake all alone,
and I’ve gone so numb I can’t feel the aching cold
tearing at my skin although I know it’s there.
I’ll wait for my happiness
even if it never comes.
I’ll lay there waiting for HIM to meet me,
waiting for the despair HE brings me.
HE will promise to shield me from corruption,
but HE is a liar.
As I taste the blood and the guilt of all the people
that have ever met HIM,
and as I feel myself drifting away from this
awful yet sweet disposition and I whisper a curse under my breath
with my icy tongue
and when the day threatens me with my burning regrets
I’ll leave with my mask intact but cracking slowly
my stomach churns with the sound of my own screams echoing in my skull
as HE leads me to my utter demise.
But I\'ll follow,
without argument but with much regret
and I\'ll hit low again as I ponder my respect.