the dirt and stones
have ripped my fingers ragged
torn the nails
to the quicks
as i claw at the floor
my blood becomes mud
inching closer to the bottom
i descend lower and lower
into my pit
you can see my finger bones
poking out of my mangled flesh
and each time
i delve further and deeper
my nerves scream
more than i do
but they fall on deaf ears
no moans, cries or wails
will escape the pit
no reason no rhyme
will escape the pit
light is diffused
by the depth
it has no wish
to be here
for this is the bleak
for this is the darkness
for this is depth
this is the pit
so as i descend
in a shroud
of mud, blood and pain
i ignore the shrieking of my body
- the sundry of its hurting parts
i ignore my inner dialog
- i have no time for self induced panic mode diatribe
i ignore all rules
- they have a degree of flex unlike laws
this pit i have dug for myself
this pit that i call my own
this pit...
and all the shit
i have done;
done to you
done to us
done to me
About the Creator
Brenton F
It's just a token of my extreme - Frank Zappa
- - -
I have an eBook, a collection of my favourite pieces
Comments (9)
Brilliant mate
Gosh, this was so poignant and intense. Such raw emotions in every line! Well done!
Could feel the pain through this poem. Well written!
Andrew already begged pardon for the pun. This is very deep.
This is a wonderfully written yet painful read.
Nice piece♥️💯✌️
I feel like I want to read a follow up to this about climbing back out. Like, a counterpoint.
Wow. This is (pardon the pun) really deep. Fantastic job Brenton.
Horrifying but wonderful poem! Very eldritch!