There is a small difference between pain and peace. Of peace and pleasure. Of pleasure and persecution. It’s in the details, the movement, the pacing. The way you pause and see. The way you look at me and know
As soon as these shackles come off you’ll come home, Little do you know the shackles were never locked, as the only person who bound you was yourself.
You chisel away at me until you get it to fit into a mould of you’re making. Then you continue to chisel it. You watched me break and bend and break and bend Into the shape you wanted to make. Blemishes and imperfections cured and purged and purified in fire and cold. only to realiseContinue reading “Poetry [Untitled Series] – 4”
an engines purr gives rise to a hope that I’ve long since abolished. how do you rise when the noise drives right by? you learn in the fumes of what goes by “it was not for you child faith lies in the unseen”
Ripping r I p p I n g ripped I feel the swell from wounds not of my own a deep seeded root an intolerable pain knowing is torment the realisation the choices you made the ramifications I suffer alone. like a thief you stole a phanthom thief stealing my world my body my choiceContinue reading “Poetry [Untitled Series] – 2”
I ignore the noiseI ignore the silenceBury myself in what I should have knownWhat I shouldhave seen