At the end of the day,
When the night comes again,
And the lights are all off,
And the world stops still,
Everything is just so quiet,
And you're left alone again,
With nothing but a dull ache in your chest,
Because you've got time to think,
You've got the silence to think.
And you're just so fucking lonely,
So sad that it physically pains you.
Your heart's caving in on itself,
So hollow in the middle from the lack of blood,
That it's rotting away, and crumbling down.
And your organs are just turning to mush,
Gurgling away inside, like some poisonous punch.
Your face is numb, so fucking numb,
Like you can't feel a fucking thing,
Even with the blood running down your face,
You can't remember how it happened,
Or why you're suddenly crying.
But then it's the morning,
And you're washing your face at 7am,
And scrubbing away the dried blood.
The sun's rising, the days breaking,
The dawn is coming to a close,
And the world begins to turn once more.
So all you have left to do Is wait until the night,
And start it all over again.
YOU ARE READING
Death by Words: A Selection of Poetry
PoetryA collection of poetry written by me (that, as always, demonstrates my mental deterioration and inner dialogue).
