II
And I have yet to recover from the sea,
Its waves
Are my schizophrenia.
I see people who do not exist,
These ghosts
That mock me.
And I stare.
They can hear me.
Their darkness surrounds me.
Dear Death,
I
And all I feel is ecstasy.
Pain seeps through
The mangled flesh
That parts upon the blade.
At last,
The blood has drained
From my veins.
I am free.
II
I kick away this pain
Of living
My throat catches
In your rough hands,
Your hemp-like embrace.
Place your cloak
Upon my brain
In stillness, quicken
My darkened vision fades
Silent, the wind
Inside my chest is empty,
Replaced
By an eternal silence.
XV
There is no dignity
In dying
And no purpose
In living.
I am a beaten child.
Your words hurt more
Than your fists.
I cannot die
By my own hand,
Only by the touch of another
When spring comes:
I am reborn.
X
Darkness spreads slowly;
A drop of black ink
That pollutes the clear water,
Its black waves crash
Upon white sand beaches.
Although it may seem dark to most
We forget
That black absorbs the most light.
Energy pulses
In the darkness
That fills it with power.
I am who I am.
My darkness is my light!
A Battle Within Me
The wind burrows
Above the field.
A dark storm
In crimson blood; it pools
Between severed limbs,
Bashed skulls,
Bullet shells,
And my shattered
Body half buried
In a bed of poppies.
I rest my head on red pillows.
Rain saunters down
Sideways.
It calmly tucks me in.
VI
Your worst crime
Was to break your child’s heart.
My scars
Will never quite heal.
And I am Left
With these cracks
That cannot be filled.
By Griffin Wilson