Little hurt people live in my head,
wrecked for hate
or too much love.
They walked so far upon their feet,
found solace in my pit of vitriol
and harboured their fatal fleet.
They try to whisper but echo mighty.
Dark creatures scurry through my mind;
to touch is to taint.
They taught me to let no one see the black pulsing through my veins,
the neat rip across my heart,
the hollow I see beyond tomorrow
“for the light makes mock of sorrow.”
To let no one spy
the lies on my tongue,
charred dreams inked in pain, and
that no one is as gone as I.