Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site



A dramatized version of how the world views me and how my brain has digested the presumptions into a rhythmic rhyme. Enjoy.


Submitted:May 27, 2012    Reads: 37    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   


I stand listening to the darkness.

The mute voices frighten me, but the images of my destroyers bring me comfort, faces that I can recognize.

I take a deep breath before I plummet into the open waters of distress.

The damsel is me, locked away in my underwater fortress.

I want to be rescued, I want to be unlocked from my chains.

Just leaving this castle of mundane atmosphere would be too overwhelming, too intimidating.

I have to take the leap, for if I won't, the rest, anything to progress would just be kept away in the land of 'Could of Been'.

Locked and kept from grasp, I'll only lower myself near your footsteps, trailing after you like some lost animal without a cause.

I need to leave, I need to achieve what's been planned out so precisely for me.

Though the ticking clock tells me I've run out of time to contemplate, it's ether now or forever be lost.

Famished for compassion, I have to take what's left of me and establish something pretty for others to see.

What's on the outside does count, whatever fool disputes that is delusional, no one looks past the physical decoration, and if they do, they cannot really be from this planet.

Lips painted red, eyes dark as night, now I'm any weak hearten man's fictional delight. This is what I do, legs wrapped around tight.

It's the only way to freely express what's been deprived for so long. I must not let all the ridicule and derision prevent me from receiving the only affection I can fathom.

I cannot hold the storybook ending in my tainted fingers, I cannot kiss the lips of monogamy. Mrs. Faithful knows all too well the little whore she kept trapped in the fable of abandonment.

Her father cannot stay, why should any lover take a chance at sleeping another night?

So atlas, I find myself a gloomy tree to hold retreat at, only till I realize I have feet and walk away from all that's kept me rooted here in the destitute I've released my soul in to squander.

Shame brings back the rain, to rinse off my broken body, little does Mother Nature know that I will never be clean, and rightfully so the birds shall sing the melodically formed tune, of the girl that lost her way.





1

| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.