You talk like pain’s a rumor
and every hard truth’s someone else’s fault.
Sheltered fools, rehearsing your excuses
same wreckage, same surrender,
then you call the damage out of your hands.
Walk on.
I’ve got nothing left to give you.
For the hollow eyed,
running numb and restless,
I sharpen every silence
till it sounds like what you hate.
For the worn down,
who keep choosing the cage,
don’t come asking me to mourn you.
I’m the voice you can’t erase.
now go on. Get gone.
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Author:
Seraphel (
Offline) - Published: September 27th, 2026 22:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
Offline)
Comments2
Got anyone in mind, or was this just a rehearsal?
Yes it’s with a particular person and type of people in mind.
Metaphoric and surreal this poem spews a threat that can be felt in its reading. Well done.
Thank you. Wanted to try something different.
You are most welcome
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