I feel paralysed. Naked in a winter storm.
Exposed.
The wind whipping me with every opportunity
to inflict more pain
on this broken canvas.
Earthquakes shudder from within, silent,
but as violent as the merciless north;
there is no sympathy where nature dwells within me.
No cure for the poison ivy that grips my heart
with claws of passionate anger,
twisting with cold, cold venom.
My lungs are on fire, but you see nothing burning.
My legs are earthquakes, but you just see me,
numb.
My heart is falling into the void of my despair,
but you just see the smile.
You see the mask, the façade, the plastic elation
that secludes the darkness that lurks,
embracing its demon children with desperate
fury.
What do I see?
I see suffering, never-ending,
that tumbles in agonising waterfalls down
the innocent palette of her cheek.
I see a painting, perturbed by ink
that has poisoned its beauty.
I see a masterpiece, a girl, who was created
in the eyes of someone who sees her as perfect
with a soul of pure hope and passion,
but alas, this girl is frozen in that despair
that burns her skin and scorches her spirit.
She can’t escape this cage; it confines her,
luring her back in with sweet promises
that echo in lovers’ hearts,
but the promises are empty.
There’s nothing in this bowl of life,
for the fruit – and the flowers – have decayed
along with her joy.
All the flowers are dead.
-
Author:
Charlotte Tucker (Pseudonym) (
Offline)
- Published: March 25th, 2020 14:35
- Category: Love
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Charlotte ♡︎
Comments2
A fine write Charlotte.
If not so serious, we may be 'British' and say 'Ooohh, it's just a bad hair day!' heehee.
Wow! this reads like a prelude to exodus.
Often who we are perceived to be is quite quite different to the inner soul. Your very poetic words show this so potently today.
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