I’ve been passing through doors,
All of my life
Nothing was forever
but Temporary homes
of a carving knife
Blade slivered, down my leg
When it became, real Divine
self inflicted trauma
turmoil by the deadline
concerned desire to spin the revolver
aim all the way through
including the spine
in the darkest of days
imaginations will decline
what does all that matter
the world is all a shrine
phenomenon of this shattered ugly body
this is just a sign
childhood is a guideline
my soul is at war with the central key
my mind is critically confined
I just want to be set free
The pain is staggering along
Although I can still feel the scars
The cuts are so far beyond
The sun, the moon, and the stars
anonymous
About the Creator
H.b. Woods
I am a mental health warrior; I battle it daily. I’m a mom to 5, a wife, a daughter, and a friend. Some of my poems are brutal as my ‘journey’ continues. Thank you for taking the time to read my poems.
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