Self

A recurring thought stuck in my head;

Now on paper, by my hand with lead.

A thought. An idea;

Always fraught with fear.

By my own making, a prison;

I no longer want to live in.

Erase the words, no relief from the pain;

Nothing to lose, but much to gain.

It’s a silent demise;

Away from prying eyes.

No white knight, no happy ending;

Yearning for light, darkness impending.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s