skin and bones

Do you hear the voices inside your head? Do you know where they came from?

artwork by: me (Carol Fraine)

never a whisper,

nor a buzz,

not even just a soft hush.

it shouts at my ear,

loud and clear.

I should be deaf, but, still I'm not

and I kept listening

until my ears ring.

it's my voice, so, why not?

the clouds are heavy, yet I feel light.

is it because I'm happy or just empty inside?

a drizzle starts, a drop on my palm. 

it coats my skin like the spots on the ground.

but, I start to heave and choke for air.

my chest tightens, my lungs come bare.

one look at a puddle is all it took

to see that I'm drowning alone, tied hands and foot.

the sun is high, hot, and bright.

it burns my skin and blinds my eyes.

it tickles and tingles, yet, still, it pricks.

it tries to awaken me, but I still fell deep.

it's painful and unbearable, yet I feel numb.

so, i crave more pain until it feels dumb.

a lone light post carved on my flesh

a small spark, it tried, but, still, it rests.

now, it roars, and I still listen.

my skin blisters and my eyes glisten.

it's outside my skin and inside my bones.

a wood and a drill; a glass and a stone.

yet, fear doesn't come, even if it won't heal.

not even for the sharpness or the spark of steel.

it's what's inside that I fear-- scared of what I might see.

guess what? I found nothing,

nothing but me.