Joshua Webster
With Lament
I sit to rest on the bed of spikes,
to lay my head down gently,
to rest upon and ponder, as I sink into needles;
First puncture, to the heart,
source of emotional feeling,
sanctuary to love kept secret,
now revealed, broken and torn;
Second puncture, to the head,
source of knowledge understood,
solemn understanding of the heart,
now tatters, pieces I have torn apart;
Third puncture, to my soul,
spirituality that consumes thought,
provokes better natured mannerisms,
bleeds in the bed made of hatred and tears.
untitled
You leave me breathless
to the curse that is anxiety;
leaving the paranoia and stress,
at these issues, no need to address.
You leave me speechless,
a crippling state of paranoia,
that leaves me bound with pain,
as to refrain remember it all again;
You leave me, now lifeless,
to deep cuts, infected wounds,
invisible to the surface of any man,
as my scars continue to bleed,
that I understand, is the truth;
no matter how much love dies,
no matter how much one cries,
please let it be known,
love never dies.
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