By falling in reverse,
Ive harboured true vice.
A disappointment
A disaster
A disgrace.
Fallen from perfection.
Fallen from the hill of stability.
Long since forgotten,
Not a honoured student,
The golden child.
Or the most loved.
Not even a gifted cherished employee.
Fallen from the gilded pedestal
Into the depths
Of a personal hell.
Raged with nothing but endless thoughts
No flame or fire. Or cold chill
Just the voices in my head,
Singing loudly for me
No faith
No trust
No luck
No love
No care
Just debt
Depression
Angry
And a lack of meaning in this new found land
About the Creator
Lane Burns
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I’m still just finding my voice and coming to believe that I can do this again. I like writing poetry and darker fiction. As well as some fan fictions!
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Tortured Soul
The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
This is beautifully done. I'm sorry if you're going through it right now. 😔 Thank you for sharing this piece. 💗
A montage of jaded ideals and fading colours, so bleakly beautiful. This is a fine piece!