Warding
I need to get out.
I need to get out.
I need to get out.
Staring at blank and blackened screens.
Slowly going insane.
Does my countenance show anything of the war happening inside?
Do my eyes glow with the buildings aflame?
Would my tears quiet the fire?
Or are they just gasoline
Waiting for the right time to make the really coming alive?
Checking the phone,
Just another blackened screen.
Showing nothing of hope.
Just of my lost
And love
And hate.
Sitting in a room filled with the sounds of people but yet still so alone.
Just slowly, swinging so lowly
And quietly going insane.
This poem is about:
Me