Cold Heart/Bloody Palms
Lance Barnwell
10 Feb, 2016 03:20 PMHow cold is the heart that's as brittle as glass Shattering to shards on the cusp of your grasp And those shards are the razors that you grind in your hands For in the ecstasy of pain only you'll understand Feeding the fire to obliterate those dubious charms The glass cannot glisten drenched in the blood from your palms Can you not shed a tear, are you misunderstood? Or are you purging the sorrow with your own vapid blood? Lazily leaking from each jagged rip Depleting your reasoning with each languid drip Blood covered glass is embedded in the rents on your palms And the hellish fire that's burning should've given cause for alarm But those shards that are razors you now grind in your face Ruinously gouging and shredding as you bid to escape You're the fire, the blood and now you sob in agonized rasps For cold is the heart that's as brittle as glass
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Comments
Post a Comment27 Dec, 2016 06:38 AM
Your poem inspired me to write a story, can I use it in my story? I'll give the link to this poem and say that you're the owner and writer