She is wasting away
Folding into herself
Both wrists smiling crimson with the sunrise
She whispers goodnight to the darkness
To the empty bed that speaks too much of her future
But her bones…
They won’t be still
They creep out of their closets and seep through her skin
They tumble into her mouth and tell strangers her secrets
She tells them how she crumbles in silence
How she cries sometimes at the sight of a new day
She is exhausted with the struggle to breathe
to live instead of existing
to love when it hurts
A broken levee with her heart gutted like corpse
A Y tattooed into her chest
A love poem without a poet around to write her down
so she pours out metaphors in her sleep
praying the devil won’t hear them
She doesn’t want him as an audience to her life
because he is so judgmental to her faults
And, sometimes, that makes her second guess her skin
Which makes her feel sinful since she is questioning the way
God made her
But if He wanted her to be different,
why didn’t He make her different?
Why make her so prone to madness?
Why make her so easy to bleed?
Why make next breath and desire to live so hard to reach?
Why give her dreams that can’t manifest?
Most days, it all seems so senseless
A relentless voyage to emptiness and mortality
And the only time she gets a peek at immortality
is through her pen
So despite the death that haunts her waking moments,
she breathes through ink
All in an attempt to not let her hopes waste away
So she fights through prose, love, madness and glimpses of sanity
just to make it through another day in this world of lost souls and humanity
It is her best attempt at survival and living
#waste #mortality #immortality #yeyodapoet #melanieyeyocarter #anticsofapoet #diaryofadayumpoet
"I am a LIFE REPORTER, but for short, you can simply call me a poet."