Apocalypse Poem by Aimee Nell
Apocalypse
She stands alone.
Only her thoughts for company.
Each night,
Mental damnation.
Each day,
Hiding the pain.
Cutting.
Burning.
Searing deeper.
The core,
Her own apocalypse.
The hole she prods,
Only to make it burn more.
Because she knows the pain is better.
Better than the emptiness.
Better than having no feeling at all.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
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5/8/2024 7:50:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
