Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Wither (Press)

inside me
lie things unresolved
things unconcluded

let my mind fall
into a forbidden place

land softly in memories
lie quietly on desires

shoved back so far
you cannot convey them to anyone
they prevent you from interacting properly
if you become engrossed in these
you will die

you'll lie there
waiting, wasting, withering away
for something that will never come

these are things you know
you're not supposed to think about
things you're not supposed to want
but they're there

and all you can do is write
meaningless and empty poems that don't come close to explaining anything
words to describe what happens there do not exist

and your frustration at all these dead ends
builds up into an intense fury
that amounts to nothing

all you can do is live your life
with those emotions existing covertly under the surface
constantly, constantly, always there

ripping, gnawing, biting at your soul

1 comment:

esperanza said...

I like the irony of the poems that don't express anything, because this work conveys internal struggle while its words say that it can't truly communicate anything.