Its frustration. Its sorrow. Its confusion. Everything is a clutter. Black paint covering the walls. Silence is sinking in, dreams are no longer near. This is my room, a painting with delusions of my fantasies. Beneath my bed are the monsters of the night, its a sight to behold, a doorway to the hell I call home. Above me are stained images, alongside me I find my follower. The silence soon broken, I witness screams of the beyond. Fire rages and turns the walls to ashes as my room becomes a furnace of pain. Do you hear the screams? Do you hear my screams? Fear is apparent, and insanity is freed from the cage. The voices are painful, these tears burn my skin, and I no longer wish to be singed.
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Author:
dominick beltran (
Offline) - Published: March 19th, 2020 10:36
- Comment from author about the poem: No message today. Pretty self explanatory.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 52
Offline)
Comments2
Self-explanatory indeed, and very colorful in its enticing darkness. Strong poem.
That's gonna take more than an asprin to sort out.
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