Friday, August 20, 2010

To Die...

like a growing flame
insanity burns deep
gnawing at your breast
eating your stale heart
leaving you devoid
and you sit in lonely corners
plucking out the nerves on your wrists with bleeding fingers
trying hard to remove the dead rot that has become one with you
but you will die slowly
as the mold spreads deep into your nostrils
and your voice falls along with the songs that were never sung

- 20/ 8 / 2010


  1. good poem
    the feeling behind
    is understood
    when one senses terribly
    ones own body
    as a prisoner
    feels the prison wall?

  2. Really strong poem. Is the painting also your work?