by Sylence Campbell
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
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Pain. Itís become my only companion.
Perhaps I become more the sickened wretch.
Perhaps I grow to desire pain. My own pain.
Your words, you think them so little, yet each is sharpened,
each honed to penetrate my shell, your shrapnel words that
explode under my skin. Pounding me down, farther, farther down,
I struggle to rise from the tattered form I am, lying in dirt,
beaten black and blue by the insensitive words.
But I can only read them again and again and marvel at the
way you can hurt me. Cold am I?...perhaps I am.
But inside my walls I am terrified, lonely. Miserable.
I reside in darkness, trapped in a well of my own misery.
The cold slimy walls of my blackened heart, the only support I have.
The water rises around my feet, soon I shall drown in the
tears that I can never shed.
Tears I ache to release. I scream out to the blue sky above me,
reaching with open arms, begging to be released from this hell.
Why?? Why can I not FEEL anymore?
Stripped of my emotions. What good am I now? Deserving of Love??
I used to think so. But no. I am but a Harlot, selling misery.
Destined to bring down into the depths of Hades,
all those that touch my heart. How can I do this to them??...
I care so much. Yet I am too selfish to release them,
I drag them with me into the cavernous mouth of Gehenna.
Clutching to some form of devotion. void of life...
void of heart...Empty.
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|Reviewed by Anna Marie Fritz
|The Elflet does it again! "Your words...each honed to penetrate my shell...schrapnel words that explode under my skin." What imagery! I, too, am glad that I have your poetry book. It has warmed many an evening, and inspired a host of ideas.|
|Reviewed by Bhuwan Thapaliya
|Emotionally outstanding write....BHUWAN|
|Reviewed by Kevin Mc Crum (Reader)
|Power words. You carve your way across the page with each word. Excellent!|
|Reviewed by Janet Caldwell
|Damn good poem, not too many dare! I love it.