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Venomous Tears
August 10, 2011
A cold, miserable hand reaches through the night.
Brushing my skin, through my mind.
It steals the happiness I once knew.
I awake with venomous tears.
Incapable heart.
Unwavering hands.
Never ceasing, although reasons there are none.
That hand is all I know,
Yet I know not enough.
They try to help me, though there is no solution.
Let me suffer.
I am the only one who may find a way back to myself.
These venomous tears are mine alone.
© Omar M., Phildelphia, PA
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Favorite Quote:
"As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry,<br /> like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve.<br /> And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me.<br /> And everything I made is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time." - Bright Eyes