Sanity.
Why is frustration leading me?
Hooking past the trembling walls,
Smashing up my salvation to tiny pieces
Of broken glass, shattered
Amongst the clean, but frail carpet.
Ink marked the floor.
Maybe my fists couldn’t bare
The blood that layered intently.
Thin doors in my soluble mind
Created holes,
To vent what I really saw.
The ceiling closes in on me;
The skirting shades;
The floor starts to ink,
And my faculty breaks.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 980 times
Written on 2005-11-17 at 00:19
Tags Sanity  Anger 
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