Shame of Ink
I arose in a beated limp,
A hole through my chest I simply can't seal,
perhaps the mishap I couldn't take the leap,
A routine I seem to remember I can't heal.
My bed's quite comfy, you know?
I see it as a sea of wretched memories accompanies me at night whenever I feel lonely.
I do everything but chase them away, misconcepting every detail,
A aspect i overthink fully when thougts comes astray.
Forgot to mention, I fell inlove with sorrow.
The definition bleeds through me;
A cloth of blood of what made me feel angry,
My chest heaves its pain onto my pillow.
handfull of my tears tumbles in barcodes
Willingly deep, I began, it grows.
A rush of serotinin wraps through me
In pleasure of my numb, cold body.
A temporary happiness which is all so loopy,
'Til me and death finally meets,
It's the pain of my skin that reeks of real ink.
Beside my bed, on the table is where I wrote:
I'm sorry you didn't know.
A shame you didn't get to yell.
This time it's for me tot ell,
I get to choose when and where I'll go home.
© 2022 mar