F. I.R.E

I am on fucking fire

from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet

The fire started from within

Blood drips from every opening

Sizzling the moment, it hits outer skin

I want to cry

But I can not

I screamed so loud

you hear not

Let me die

Maybe then you would see

Me!

They say we are more than

this body

The soul is who we are

What if the soul died a long time ago

Yes a soul can die, I think

I never asked one personally

Nerves are being singed now

Tremors erupts and you watch as the fire burns

You do not worry about me

You never did.

Collapsed as chard remains sizzle and smoke

What is left is the mind

That will soon leave as well

Tired (Poem)

What to say?

When the words don’t flow.

When the river runs dry.

There are no depths below.

I’m shattered.

Into minuscule pieces of fine glass,

hidden in deep creases.

Weary is too soft,

To light has no weight

To hold what I feel.

If drained was the best I could do,

Then that word still would not hold true.

What I feel cannot be weighed,

In pounds, kilos, or stones.

A metric system has not been created.

What I feel in the marrow of my bones.

I guess spent will be the word of the day.

To end this miserable tirade.

One day there will be a word,

To describe this feeling I feel inside.

It will be whispered to someone.

It will change the tide.

This is where my thoughts will end.

Sleep calls.

Good night my friend.