My teeth and fingertips
clamp around the words
so that they might not escape them.
I tug the cowl down over my eyes
as not to see them strapped within.
Just a tattered and torn blindfold
that's running sheer,
not much help really,
cause through the fading fabric,
I can see the moment disappear.
If I could sleep tonight,
I'd dream that you were here,
but there's this nameless thing
clinging to my back,
saying you are alone here.
So as the world succumbs
to night and restless ardor,
I wait in shadows bright.
Me and this thing upon my back,
Striking trepidation to peccant sums,
To bring some succor to my skin.
The blood and the bruises,
The smile of mounting wounds.
Reminders of the solitude,
And all its paroxysmic boons.
They will not bring you back.
YOU ARE READING
Blank Spaces
PoetryAn emotive journey through the empty places we visit but never want to see. The pain, the heartbreak, trying to see hope in places there may be none. And the secrets, and yes there are always secrets. Can you see them in this dark empty space? So it...
