Depths Of Despair
by Alethea Matthews
Rising from the depths of despair
Waiting. Craving. Thinking.
They talk, they show off.
They hate, they make fun.
I resent, I spit.
And with the lanterns lit,
I cry. I smother.
Because life is nothing but a filthy bother.
And I pick up the knife
Hold it near the wrist
And let myself wander in the unlimited mist
Of despair.
My Impregnable Soul 
Deep Lines !
Thanks a lot!
Sorry for commenting late. I’ve been sick. Okay, to your poem–
You’ll managed to pull another deep on evocative one, Alethea. I like what you had to say about picking up a knife–it gave me the chills.
Any serious problem? I hope you are alright.
And to the comment, thanks a bunch!
Thank you for asking. I’m feeling a lot better–just malaria in my system. Please keep writing. I enjoy your works a lot :)
Thanks a lot, and I sincerely hope that you’d get better soon.
:)
Reblogged this on Katherine Kacey Page and commented:
Here goes the best poem that I ‘ve ever read:
Beautiful.
:)
The realm of duality
A people, I see
They see me.
But what I see is not that is
And what I don’t is most of it.
The corrupt existence,
The duality of natures
Is a torture,
Is a shame
Is a sham.
The settlement is a compromise
They do it by free will
A moral code broken
Of values unspoken.
The people i see
I cry.
Beautiful.
:)
Wow this is so deep! (and dark!)
I love this! I’ve felt like this with a figurative knife at my wrist. So powerful.
Thanks.