Guilty

Mhm. That's a gavel. =P

Mhm. That’s a gavel. =P

I’m too sleepy to write my journal for today, so here’s a poem I wrote instead. Yes, yes, I have written about guilt before, but this one is called “Guilty”, so there is a difference, albeit of one letter. Enjoy. 🙂

I never want to do it.
Mind’s eye ever wanders through it.

And with my eye I eye my transgression,
Forgiven but I just can’t lose this depression.
It’s a question of oppression no repression an obsession–

Like a judge with a gavel in his hand,
To crush the man who just can’t stand–
To hold his head up.
It’s a cup from which I supped.

But the food is deadly,
A deadly medley of deathly.
I hear things scream in my head.
They’re here, right beside my bed.
I get out of bed, walk with feet of lead.
Blink once, blink twice, I see red.

It’s a cold that gnaws away inside.
I’m cold but I was only just fried.

Praying, waiting, just hoping it’ll heal
Slaying, breaking, I’m crushed by its heel
Daily I say, and when I don’t I lay–
Thinking about the lack of a way

I look clean, but I feel filthy
In my teens, but I sound fifty
I’ve been freed–

But I am guilty

Tours yruly

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