Roxanne

Biography

Life's a bit of a shithole

Constrictor

The pain constricts itself around my chest, I told myself it would not last, Yet it still hasn't left. It hurts me to breathe, Oh, how I wish this ache would leave, My skin has been scorched from the blazing teardrops, There is only one thing for my pain to stop. The crimson stream prickles as salt on a would would, I relish in those moments of tranquility, Where the constrictor is rid of, But only so long as the stream flows. Once the crimson has dried, It returns with renewed strength, And the roars of my troubles escape my lips, Erupting from deep within, disregarding my fruitless attempts to suppress my cries. Reality seems to collapse on me, I grasp onto myself, For I cannot fall into that pit, Where ceaseless waves of emotion drown me. Like a tormented creature, I cower, Enslaved to my own emotions, Too exhausted to break away, Yet too frightened to stay.

Regret

I have a relentless tormentor that hounds me, He is perpetually causing distress, I yearn to be as everyone else. My thoughts, My emotions, They make no sense. My dear tormentor, I thought that by now you would have left. You see, this tormentor of mine, He has a name, Many people know of him, He is regret.

Look up, just for a moment

Will he look up tonight? And see this magnificent sight? Surrounded by darkness, it's ghostly white, Close enough to touch, yet at an unreachable height. If he were to raise his stare, What a splendor we would both share, I admit that this will sounds like a cliché, But even a thousand miles away, Together we would bathe in its ghostly white glare, If only he had a moment to spare. Will he look up tonight? Will he raise his stare? See it gleam so bright? The full moon; it's hanging just there.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Blog entries by Roxanne

Is it still? (09/01/2020)

Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/roxanne