Hold On

Before the pain, she laughed beautifully and wrote her name,
and after it came, it brought lifelessness and dark rain;
but she was never told that she was not to blame,
so when she cried, she was ashamed — and sorrow,
consternation, and anger boiled in her veins.
Though she may pass feigned smiles, if you look into her eyes,
it is there that great pain lies—
draining her joy and her essence through a forced disguise.
But there is a quiet strength that fuels the fire of hope,
and in that hope she survives, pushing back against fear and its lies;
tears constantly fall, and somehow in a desolate place, she manages to smile.
Her tears are dried and looking through gorgeous eyes,
she will abide and make it through the night.

The Tormented

Anguished screams narrate the bowels of hell in all its depths.
Perpetual falling of dark rain washes away the blood after the opening of veins.
Lost in desolation, if they escape death, when they come back — they are never the same.
The bloodstream craves euphoria to numb unceasing pain,
but after the sun rises, sorrow still remains.
They fall to their knees and weep in sincere praying, but sorrow still remains.
Please take away the pain. They cry earnestly, please take away the pain.
But there is no change — they wail before the sun rises, but there is no change.
They want the world to know their names.
They so desperately want the world to know their names;
and feel the warmth of the sun again.
They want to feel the embrace of the warmth of the sun again.
Agony seems to never end.
The torment seems to never end.





The Darkness of Secrets

The womb of past secrets is stretched in agony,
longing to give birth to what is long hidden and unspeakable;
but its child is stillborn and unmourned,
because dark whispers do not make it past closed doors,
to tell accounts of what was — and the pain that still lingers.
Vengeance is dreamed of, and always tingling on the tips of the fingers.
The heart refuses to fully heal, until there is a reckoning of monsters.
They can no longer live in hiding, plotting; planning.
They must be drawn out, and utterly rooted out by their victims, limb by limb;
even the blood, bone, and sinew of them must not remain.
Nothing shall be left of them — not even the whispers of their names.
After they inflicted anguish, torment and pain
nothing again, ever again, was the same.

Chapters of Torment

The sorrowful heart, is the pen that writes
anguished paragraphs and chapters of torment.
The author’s bio is a summary of years of lament.
The foreword is written in blood;
the book is dedicated to the withered soul’s remnants.
The eyes of the reader widens, as the first chapter begins.
Tears are shed, and anguished screams are heard, as the final chapter ends.

Ethereal Beauty

Standing in front of the mirror,
for a long time, she stared at herself
and began to remove the facade—
slowly peeling off all of the layers;
at the foundation she made a breathtaking revelation
as she wept, beholding a being
that was a divine creation,
exuding magnificence and
angelic light with every breath.


She is So Tired

Weary and tormented with nothing left to give,
her tears fell on the letter that she neatly folded;
and in that cold room she sat listlessly
closing her eyes after the tears dried,
and she fell asleep for a little while,
awakening to the same thing that for so long she had been fighting;
and to get up, she placed her hand on a worn nightstand,
revealing the many scars on her skin under dim lighting.
And the tears came again, from tired eyes
that were closed so many times in endless praying.
In her frailty, she held onto an unstable cold railing,
in a torn nightgown, walking down the steps to the kitchen;
in tears, she started off with faint words in her whispering—
but then she kept screaming,
all I want to do is live again.