Deep moans drift in the room.
Liquid hunger screams from my veins.
Acid leaks from my lips.
Agony drips from my head.
I am wounded, and all I want is more.
more of her to heal my pain,
more of her to lessen my mind,
more of her to help me hide.

A chuckle escapes my wrinkled lips as I emerge from a lady dripping journey,
A deep orange carpet, an unreasonable color
soaked in filth with a variety of stains lays beneath me.
A few of the round damp scarlet stains appear to be my blood,
another aspect I find humerous about the whole situation.
My grip on sanity is lost.

My heart feels numb and cold as steel.
I notice a greasy man in the corner of the room.
His black beady eyes and tensed muscles don’t seem to show much compassion.
He zips up his pants before leaving the cheap hotel room
and leaving me broken on the floor.

I was already broken before.
Sold my soul to the devil.
My trembling hands guide the heavenly needle into my scarred arm.
I close my eyes and let the golden lady guide me into eternal darkness,
as I beg god to accept me in the gates of heaven and not hell.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741