dominick beltran

Voices



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.

Comments2

  • anonymousblue

    Self-explanatory indeed, and very colorful in its enticing darkness. Strong poem.

  • dusk arising

    That's gonna take more than an asprin to sort out.



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