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The Poison
Smooth is my scalp; Sunken are my eyes.
Condemned in the mirror by the places that hair refuse to grow.
They tell me that I'm strong as I sit here and weep, what do they know?
Smooth is my scalp; Sunken are my eyes.
You look at me with pity, somehow you forgot how to empathize.
My veins turn orange as they pump in the poison that will save me.
Save me from myself; I want to live beyond the age of thirty.
Smooth is my scalp; Sunken are my eyes.
Hope and trust is tested as my heart they vandalise.
Breathing through the pain, I struggle because it hurts to breathe;
At this point, I don't know which is the agony I choose to believe.
Smooth is my scalp; Sunken are my eyes.
I would give anything to tell you I'm in disguise.
Wanting nothing as hunger fades,
Losing weight and patience as my world seems to be an open game of charades.
Smooth is my scalp; Sunken are my eyes.
When this darkness gives out, I will be left with no choice but to rise.
About the Creator
Jollyoddbod Poetry
Here I am, and here I'll stay;
Like the moon in the darkness that refuses to fade.
Clouds will cover, but cannot take from my reign;
Mark this as the moment that they realise, as they scoff with distain.
They fell asleep, I cannot be blamed.
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Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall7 days ago in Fiction
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