His Journal Bled, A Black Red



Page after page, hand drawn images
Shadows cast, lowly visages
Never the two, shall ever meet
Though desire craves to greet
Sharing tids, of bits, of pieces
A puzzle, begins to reason
The constant pounding as a boy
Beating drums to deaths door
A shell covers, his true form
Hiding from, a raging storm
Shades that fall, sight darkens
Blackbird sings, the night harkens
His journal bled, a black red
Thoughts, exploding in his head
Page after page, the final image
A moment frozen, captured a message

These are the words that end, a picture story
Created with a single colour, black only
Greys that lightly caress, the day’s that are blessed
Etched across a face, forever depressed
Lines that break tips, furiously scratching
Fibres, tearing the pages, screaming
A secret held from roving eyes
Reveals a truth, from constant lies
The joy of being lonely is a disease
It pains, it buckles the strongest knees
Repeatedly, to recite a prayer
For the courage to stand square
Eye to eye in fear, to bound us both
And pledge, a loves, never ending oath

AntönyRös

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