Tears flood the palms of my dry, cracked hands
Mingling with the lingering blood-caked memories
Brought back with a glance at each jagged crease.
All the Death,
Laying my head upon the concrete pillow of my thoughts
I get no rest, only more weary questions asked in my stupor.
Finding every answer in the bottom of my glass.
All the let downs,
Drinking myself into oblivion.
It kills me softly while it keeps me from dying.
Praying to escape the horridness, in so deep I can't pull free.
It's the paradox of my heinous life.
Sleeping brings more torment
No one should endure this anguish,
It's gushing through, driving me insane.
I couldn't face my fears and doubts.
“Don’t Cry,” scream the crowded voices of my nightmares.
While gently I fall into the enveloping loneliness,
Hoping that when I wake up the rusted darkness will crumble.
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
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