Guilty

Rose

Should I write down the sound I hear in my outward bound thought?

If the pen tells the paper will it be forever?

But then forever comes. 

The black ink fades away.

Never.

The thought stays a sound.

Forgot and never found.

Truth and fact turn to fiction without diction.

Cover it up.

It's a must.

Then stop.

Mop up the black ink.

Wait for it to dry.

Daily I live a lie.

Sweep it under the rug.

Pull it out never.

Never will come. 

I can't let it be known.

I truly want to die.

I kill myself with toxic ways...

Only on Saturdays.

 

 

 

 

  • Author: Rose (Offline Offline)
  • Published: July 7th, 2016 04:17
  • Comment from author about the poem: I can't write about events in my past... it might change my future...
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 28
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Comments +

Comments1

  • Tony36

    Wonderful write



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