where have I stowed away my love,
waiting for you?
I didn't know you'd come along
as soon as I said I was through.
I hide within this shroud,
no light can reach me,
and I hear you banging on the door,
begging for me to see...
what I have done.
what have I done?
I'm awake now,
I can feel your labored breath
on my neck.
I just can't mourn our death
since I was already dead.
it's painful to think
you will never stand a chance,
you can't protect me.
in your hands, life is such a delicate dance.
-
Author:
๐ฆเพเฝฒโ๐ช๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐ฑ ๐ฆเพเฝฒ (
Offline) - Published: July 9th, 2025 11:04
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Tristan Robert Lange, Damaso
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Comments4
Excellent write
thank you
You're
A raw recognition of what one is and what others expect. A resignation of acceptance leaving little hope. Dark and haunting it calls out to the reader. Nicely written.
Thanks!
Hayleighโฆthis one tugs on the heartstrings! The gray within the pinkโthe numbness inside something once warmโyou captured that beautifully and brutally. That line โI was already deadโ hits like the cold touch of the dead. Haunting in all the right ways. Fragile, fierce, and so painfully human. Powerful work, my friend. ๐น๐
thank you for your thoughts!
You are most welcome my friend!
Wow, dark, sincere, and thoughtful, and he admits his mistakes; he knows he's human. Thanks for sharing. Cheers.
thanks
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