Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Sickness

My smile is a sickness,
I disease you with a look,
Grin your way and stop you.

I don't want you, I never did.

My skin flakes off,
My muscles crumble
And I grab the knife
And stab the visceral
Neglect away.

Invisible is my heart,
I reject you like a
Foreign substance in my body,
Vomiting up your
Fetid sweet nothings
That have dried and died
In the pit of despair that is my stomach.

When wretching proves useless,
I hope you'll understand
When I slit skin and vein
To bleed myself of you.

I hope you'll understand
As I starve away the
Memory of you, as I
Waste away your tender goodbye's
And lay shriveled like
Dried, disregarded fruit.

I will be waste at your feet,
And you will have courage
Enough gathering at the soles
Of your shoes, strong enough to kick
Me away and step on me in an
Ireful attempt to stomp out my remaining light.

September 4, 2009


Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Sickness

315,261 Poems Read