Skating across my pallid flesh,
Slicing all the veins beneath,
The source of my ache finds relief,
With every rose that blooms in grief.
Red petals dance across my arm,
As I suffocate under the shadowed sea
That drowns the dying screams of my mind,
Whilst bleeding thorns leave my sanity behind.
A crying child in the past,
Untouched by the course of time;
My heart never ceases to sustain,
The stabbing torture of yesterday.
And even now, I am but a babe,
At whim to my inner tumult.
The roses still bloom to ease my sorrow,
Yet the thorns will bleed again tomorrow.
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My Thoughts on the World and My Writing
The content of this journal can range from passing thoughts in the style of stream of conciousness to intense stories, poetries, and prose.
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Guardian of Agape
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