Ms. Mohawk (eternallydivine) wrote in torturedartists,
Ms. Mohawk


In the bitter watches of the night,
I cry out to the silence.
Who shall hear my anguish?
The moon perhaps
As she drowns me in her glacial light,
Or the still whispers of the wind through the leaves—
The breeze that wisps my hair around my face
And caresses my cheek like a lover would
(he has icy fingers).
But there is no one there.
None to love or live for…
My inner being wastes away in this madness.
This must be the heartbreak I’ve heard about
After my soul has atrophied, what is left?
Naught but a shell … and a memory.
What once was is now lost forever
In the sands of time
I feel as thought I was a cloud—
One stroke of your hand and I am falling to pieces.
Here I kneel drawing circles in the dust—
Not hearts—circles go on forever whereas hearts break
And when they do, it is white-hot and blood red—burning
Like a sunrise, or the Apocalypse
At least the ending of this life would ease my pain.
What else is there?
Like a dead tree in winter I stand before you
Stripped bare, my emotions raw and exposed.
Would that I had the means,
I could take myself back through better times
To forget the present and the future and live forever in memory.
Oh, to be pure, immaculate.
I must pay for this perfection in blood,
A sacrifice to the temple of your affections.
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