Its Touch

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
This Is a very dark poem, I was actually feeling really happy all day... Don't know exactly how this one came to be but I figured I'd like to spook a few of you.

Read with caution.

P.S. I don't know If I'll be continueing much on my novels, I'll probably be reduced to writing little things like this, I've just been extremely busy. However, I hope you enjoy.

Submitted: January 25, 2009

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Submitted: January 25, 2009



Its Touch

I'm confused.
I know not of happiness nor do I of life.
These thoughts, they strife.
I fathom these demons,
These hellions
These beasts!
On my lonesome soul they feast!
Of course To you it might not mean much,
but to me It's got quite the wounding touch...

I'm terrified.
I know not of faith nor do I of hope.
It's of this I fail to cope.
I sense my tears,
My emptiness,
A nightmare!
I pray for someone who will care!
Yet to you it might not mean much,
however, to me, It's got quite the chilling touch...

I'm Mournful.
I know not of family nor do I of love.
I've not once dreamt of a precious dove.
I fall to my knees,
I cough of blood,
I sink once more into this dreadful state.
It's this life of which I hate!
Depite this, to you, it might not mean much,
but to me It's got quite the dreary touch...

I am death.
I know not of temptation nor do I of revelation.
I come as a crow, and I come with life's cessation.
I choose you,
I kill you,
From life to death, from light to darkness I take you.
From here you won't be born anew.
To you this will mean much,
This time, you'll be the one feeling this dreadful touch...

© Copyright 2017 Gonzo. All rights reserved.

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