To yield I shall not
To cry I shall not
Stinging clasps my heart
as trickling cells ripple
through a crackling strain
of torment.
Philosophical it may be
A crippling intense
A spindling crime
A sharpening strike
A blow so rife
My tears flowing
with strife.
The most delicate
of power
Stabbing, twisting stress,
cuts a blooded flesh
A serious blow
A ripping torture
Screams rack my breath.
Time is of the essence
Tediousness and suffering
Throbbing rattling
Tortured affliction
Emotional discomfort
A disastrous addiction.
As I lay down my head
screaming for death
My wonderous existence
may, not be no less.
Fickle and torn
Hiding and worn
I seize my life
pushing
through the bushes
I strike with a knife.
***
©️ Denise Larkin 2022. All Rights Reserved.
Also published on Medium.com
About the Creator
Denise Larkin
A writer of a BA with honours (2.1) in Arts & Humanities recently gained a Creative Writing Master's Degree. She writes poetry, fictional short stories, and is the author of the Time to Run series, Darkness and The Non-Human.<aT.
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