Old Wounds
My heart bears many scars,
Some are new, some from afar,
But it still beats stronger than ever.
I know that some of these
Old wounds will never heal,
Some still hurt more than the others.
I can't look when you touch,
It hurts far too much,
All I wanted was you to be pleased.
I wish I could make you see,
I don't want you to belong to me,
I only want is the pain to be eased.
So just believe me when I say,
That this is not the day
To go and open old wounds up,
It hurts when you do,
I feel helpless it's true,
It would hurt you if I told you to stop.
I'll just lay here as you pick
My scars, I'm feeling sick,
I'll just close my eyes and pretend I'm not there.
I feel a scratch and a nip,
As the blood starts to drip
From old wounds, but you don't seem to care.
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Torment
As the tides shift,
And the waves ebb,
The land changes shape
As the spider weaves her web.
So simple yet effective,
So fragile yet strong,
The butterfly in torment,
Bound for too long.
She knows of mortality,
As does the spider,
The dreams of escaping
Place great hopes inside her.
But the fear is great too,
For knowing if she escapes,
She'll probably fly into
Another trap by mistake.
So she lays in wait,
For her tormentor to creep
Along the silk thread
For a drink, long and deep.
The pain is too much,
As the fangs sink in,
She screams in silence,
And her consciousness dims.
The butterfly still trapped,
Half dead, drained of life,
Living in between the worlds,
Knowing she's the sacrifice.
And she still lays in wait,
For her tormentor to creep
Along the silk thread
For a drink, long and deep.
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The Chill of Loneliness
Cold, dark, December nights
Chill me to the bone,
I sit and wait for someone
To assure me, I'm not alone.
The wine glass sits half empty.
Or half full, I cannot tell.
I huddle up to find some warmth
But there is none in this Hell.
I stare and look at pretty colours
Arranged in such a way
That they seem to form something of substance,
Then quickly fade away.
It's so quiet, not many sounds
At this late in the night,
Just the sounds of passing cars,
Sleep eludes me tonight.
Even when layering my warmest clothes
Upon my ice cold skin,
I can't get warm, no not at all,
Because the cold has crept within.
Within my body, within my mind,
Within my soul and heart,
I can only find solace in dreaming now,
So I must wait for it to start.
I close my eyes tight, and wait and wait
For slumber to visit me,
But it shall not this winter's night,
As I shiver so violently.
Within this cold body, within this cold mind,
Within this cold soul and heart,
Is there not any warmth within? At all?
I could look, but where to start?
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Thanks for reading
