UNCLEAN

There is a fire inside,

burning still.

Dark is the ash

and red is the flame

that delivers me ill.

 

So quiet I’ve been keen keeping,

like a prey for its kill.

But now I’m engulfed

and my blackened sin has over-spilled.

 

I am so tired,

so worn thin,

that I keep collapsing

and falling,

again and again.

 

The things I carry

have become too heavy.

They have pulled me apart,

rupturing the seams.

 

I can hold them inside

no longer.

Like jagged knives,

they split me open

and expose me to the world

unclean.

 

A high price I pay

for hiding those lies.

Crafted  in delusion and

false sympathy.

They took me over

and stole everything,

presenting me empty

to a hungry crowd of apathy.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s