deepundergroundpoetry.com
I know
I know
I know you ponder about her every night before you fall into slumber, I know you hate that you miss her; I know despite the clearance in your eyes and the smile on your face, tears are behind those eyelids… flooding your eyes, waiting to rain down. I know you keep saying "I'm over her"… but I know that thoughts of her still float around your head, blood from your heart drips to the thirsty earth. I know you feel as if it is a night of darkness, a song of ethereal pain, wolves vent their howls.
I discern the salvation for which you pray flares once, then dies, devoured by madness. I know you shriek to yourself “kill me slowly, make it last. Slice my wrists, not too fast. I want to die; yes it's true; still not sorry, for loving you”… I discern lovely dark destructive melancholy colored memories flow forth across the pages of your life like blood flows from the wounds that never healed, leaving artistic scars to cover you in places that most will never look deeply enough to see.
How do I know, you ask? Because I've been where you are. I know I got over it, and I know you will too.
I know you ponder about her every night before you fall into slumber, I know you hate that you miss her; I know despite the clearance in your eyes and the smile on your face, tears are behind those eyelids… flooding your eyes, waiting to rain down. I know you keep saying "I'm over her"… but I know that thoughts of her still float around your head, blood from your heart drips to the thirsty earth. I know you feel as if it is a night of darkness, a song of ethereal pain, wolves vent their howls.
I discern the salvation for which you pray flares once, then dies, devoured by madness. I know you shriek to yourself “kill me slowly, make it last. Slice my wrists, not too fast. I want to die; yes it's true; still not sorry, for loving you”… I discern lovely dark destructive melancholy colored memories flow forth across the pages of your life like blood flows from the wounds that never healed, leaving artistic scars to cover you in places that most will never look deeply enough to see.
How do I know, you ask? Because I've been where you are. I know I got over it, and I know you will too.
Published 25th Feb 2015
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27th Feb 2015 7:38pm
Beautiful assurance at the end;although,emotional injuries hardly heal. Nice work Masango,enjoyed it.
27th Feb 2015 9:52pm
2nd Apr 2015 9:11am
So familiar, "Slice my wrists, not too fast." Yeah, there's a comfort in agony. We all been there and we all got past it. But holy shit are you good at remembering and delivering the kind of fare I wish I forgot. Thanks for doing you, comrade Masango. Everyone's been there, but fucking NOBODY could sound like you, bringing those cancers to the light to die. You're a fucking undertaker of toxic spirit. Thanks for doing the work, man.
