Hardly a Poem
Splinters embedded under my skin,
each memory a shard of stinging glass,
I see that I see it all now,
the infinite regrets meandering,
down foggy alleys of yesteryear,
as decades and moments come to pass.
Wearing my many masks as I cascade,
leafing through my conscious betrayals,
of gentle hearts once treasured,
now left to decay, in the empty cold.
Seeing my treasures turned to stone,
while wearing the blues like a convenient coat,
untrue to most, I stand accused,
in the dock, the fragments of my past,
are all that I am able to hold.
Where do I go from here,
as I stand ashamed, rooted to this spot,
my sins are countless, my excuses fickle,
the lies have been many,
and all the untruths have already been told.
Was it not just a fortnight ago,
when I was younger than I am now,
you loved me completely, you told me so,
while I slithered inside my thick skin,
shutting you out,
and embraced comforting desolation into my fold.
Now the momentary tears have all been shed,
the wounds of time too, have silently bled,
and all beseeching prayers have been said.
I stagger on, my reflection a mirage,
my heart and soul battered black and blue,
still, grasping onto the tendrils of hope,
if not, then I am truly dead.