your angst flows down the page
words blood red run
carved from the slits
carved from the wrists
a battle not yet won
bondage to the past
of a beautiful heart
splintered and torn
of a brilliant mind
haunted by images
wounds of reminiscence
a torturous antecedent
causing anguish in the soul
seeking succor
relief from the dreams
that scream
forcing pain on your page
reaching out for love
to those who would offer extrication
to those that would hold you dear
rejecting it when found
the fear is to great
reach out
sustenance can be found
This is not about me. It is dedicated to one.


Comments: 18
Great to see you back, Chana.
Thank you Chana, The Surreal Circus