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Description
Huddled in a corner of
my mind I scribe my thoughts.
Poems full of truth and love,
feelings recent, yet forgot.
Trying not to feel the pain
words a jumble in my head.
Fighting thoughts of past mistakes
wishing sometimes I were dead.

I hear sound of pounding nails
as tears begin to freely flow.
Looking for the source and fail
as pain creates a crimson glow.
Searching, searching for the sound
rythmic, haunting, calling me.
The hammer strikes and shakes the ground
and from my hands begin to bleed.

Tears become a raging stream
sweeping hope and dreams away.
Is it real or just a dream?
The pain reminds me every day.
Hear the clashing, closer now
and I begin to understand.
As tears turn into rusty nails
I see the hammer in my hand.

Description
Huddled in a corner of
my mind I scribe my thoughts.
Poems full of truth and love,
feelings recent, yet forgot.
Trying not to feel the pain
words a jumble in my head.
Fighting thoughts of past mistakes
wishing sometimes I were dead.

I hear sound of pounding nails
as tears begin to freely flow.
Looking for the source and fail
as pain creates a crimson glow.
Searching, searching for the sound
rythmic, haunting, calling me.
The hammer strikes and shakes the ground
and from my hands begin to bleed.

Tears become a raging stream
sweeping hope and dreams away.
Is it real or just a dream?
The pain reminds me every day.
Hear the clashing, closer now
and I begin to understand.
As tears turn into rusty nails
I see the hammer in my hand.