Years have trampled over years
Violently confusing
Like riots on television screens
Bruised and make up covered
At best
dusty memories
Stomped upon one another
In no order of importance
Broken hearted artifacts
Truths twisted like complicated stories
I just can’t stomach to finish
Yet alone pretend to read
Dried Blood
on the sun stained pages
of my teenage Journals
now stacked
And stuck together
Courtesy of
many summers taking turns
competitive of one another
With the dramatic battles reminiscent of
Childhood
unforgiving humidity
In a storage I pay for
But just won’t visit anymore
I write because no one has ever listened
I scream with the gentle push of a pen
These days it feels so much better than
Cutting my confused skin
Born with the softness of a feather
Now just leather
My favorite phantom
Ive loved you
So carelessly
With a reckless abandon
And by doing so
I only ever abandoned me
Loving every demon
Paying every fee
Left lonely and in debt
Sleeping unsoundly with the memories
Shattering like hyperbole
Impossible to forget
Toss and turn
Toss and turn
While my religious guilt grows
Beyond my dreams
I write because no one
Has ever listened to me
About the Creator
Joshua Hess
I live a life often unbelievable. From the countless tragedies & triumphs to the chances I've taken & have been given, I'm still alive to write about them all, always sharing in the hopes of helping others and healing myself along the way.
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More stories from Joshua Hess and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
I can definitely relate to the writing because no one ever listened