For What Purpose My Death?

With surgical precision,

You open the scars

of my wounded heart.

I bleed my words over you

and sully your perfect world.

You release them ~

The sharp-toothed demons

who devour my soul

And then flay my logic

for all to see,

exposing my inadequacies.

Another voice

you desire to hear

But do not understand;

To feel the need ~

Not fathoming its meaning.

You feed the muse

to hear the tinkling laughter,

silent pain and bitter sadness

that hide in the iced moon,

And with measured words,

thaw my frozen heart.

For what purpose?

Comments 2 comments

The Suburban Poet profile image

The Suburban Poet 5 years ago from Austin, Texas

I've written some stuff that prompted questions about my state of mind. It's kind of interesting to try and write a purely empathetic piece; even one that is very disturbing. I personally think it is a mark of a true thinker to write about something they have not directly experienced.


Mark Psychedlic profile image

Mark Psychedlic 5 years ago from Birmingham UK Author

Im not feeling suicidal just a poem of misery that flittered thru my mind

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