The Beast

I hate the beast.

Her pride is a poison

infiltrating her heart

Filling her mind

and spilling over the side.

 

Her voice is a stake

through my chest

a blow to my stomach.

 

As the beast is let out

I try to hide

But the scent of my misery is too strong

and the essence of my fear takes over

 

Tonight my heart beats faster than usual

And my thoughts have never been so loud

 

I long to dwell in this silence,

unnoticed

And fall asleep,

never to be found

 

I know words cannot mask cruelty,

and forgiveness can only emerge

when the forgiver can forgive herself.

 

 

Reviews

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

It is the hardest thing to be able to forgive oneself. Great job on this poem. Thank you for sharing. Debileah