My Wondering Thoughts Set In Ink (My Poetry Collection)

"Hell"

What is it really?

The house full of noisy,

Obnoxious,

Screaming,

Messy haired,

Babbling,

Completely incoherant,

Almost even frantic trolls?

The never ending yelps and cries and tuantful echoes

Ringing down your bruised ears.

The solitary confinement of your own room?

The livid clock on the wall, ticking as you wait, and you wait, and you wait?

The unstoppable time continues as you don't, and you wait, but still, nothing.

From cell where the caged bird sings and is still never heard?

Where the notes are belted out from the very most unknown thoughts of her creature

And whimpers her devestation and anger

At the very top her lungs, and is still so easily ignored.

The desk that you write on under the terriblness of the flourescent lights in the early hours of the morning?

The plams of your hands sweaty,

And the pen never writing what you want it to,

As the ugly scratch marks go through word after word,

Sentence after sentence,

And your always left with nothing.

The feel of someone ripping out your heart from your chest,

Throwing it to the ground

And walking all over it,

Right beneath their feet where the gum on their shoes lie?

Crinkling and crunkling.

Crimpling and crumpling.

The emotion that bursts in rapid, violent, as your very self

Is ripped into pieces and

Without

A second glance to be spared.

The ultimate overpowering fear that consumes all your faith in reason,

That corners you in the most darkest of places,

Traps you in the most unwanted nightmare of your memories,

With the arising torture staring you in the face

Of a bliss you now long for to be rid of such a monstorous pain.

Or is it the hot sweat running down your temple,

And the smell of your flesh boiling as your blood is bubbling,

The red-hot liquid copper trickling down your ever-dry throat,

And the sweet taste of death in your soul, as the flames teasingly lick your skin

And you fall deeper into the eternal abbys

Of mortal nothingness.

So really -

What is hell?

It could just be the breath you breathe at this very moment,

In a life that isn't very lively.

That's something I've figured out for myself.

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So, it's something new - not really, but in a way it is, so I thought I'd let you all see it. The other night I went to a friend's house after the movies and so I was there, the oldest one (since the only other person my age was passed out on the couch O__O) and all I had was my dying blackberry, so I opened up a filey-thingy and just made a poem of what was sorta happening. Well the first part anyways about the screaming little kids >.<

Well, tell me what you think! I'd really like some feedback from you guys :D

Love you all <3 

-Sarah xox