Darkness drips down my face as,
I stare at the demon before me.
He stares right back with,
Eyes so shameless and empty.
A straight mouth,
A straight nose,
A twisted mortality.
Controlling this man is like playing Jenga,
When the pieces are buried in sand.
Making his choices is like operation delta,
Without a single gun in hand.
Walking forward is like sailing a ship,
When the deck is still on land.
So I'm sorry if I hurt you,
Just know that,
It's not I inside I.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Souls
PoetryA collection of dark poems I have wrote in regards to various mental disorders, as well as heavy life problems including substance abuse, violence and poverty.
