...Born of the blade

By SolApathy

Lulled by the sweet serenade of a darkness too well played
Trapped in the visage of the hell in which I was made
Born of the blade and misery of the whip that played
Angry tenor against my back with each impending whack
Burned into my synapses a dire sound
Symphony of silence my only reprieve from this insidious disease
Disease of life- In which I am sentenced to survive
Broken, yet unbound I know the future holds no cure
Procure, I will- Ill to those that entangle in my life
I am the future’s strife
I have become the
…Knife

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Published on Wednesday, March 22, 2017. Filed under: "Poetry"

Author's Note:

...Darkness hold no candle to the suffering a soul can handle

Comments on "...Born of the blade"

On Wednesday, March 22, 2017, Drea (1388) wrote:

There is always something that happens every time I read your work. It's always dark, but in some ways I find comfort in your words. Almost like it's ok to feel this as long as you don't let it fully consume you.