BP ( / London)

Soul Snatcher

Dispersed in the fire
My weary soul doth lie
Smoldering in angry flames
Waiting there to die
black and crisp it has become
Brittle and broken still
I threw it in a blazing rage
It was either die or kill.
I wake up cold and tired
And dreading every day
Will nothing ever really change?
I ponder in dismay
My freezing isolated tears
Slowly drown my soul
I cant seem to take a breath
My existence. A black hole.

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Comments (1)

I like this angle of expression, Bridgid. Every line in this poem is just so compulsive thanks to your harrowing descriptions. The life of suffering that you depict couldn't be any clearer.