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Pockets Of Misery

Rating: 5.0
I stuff my pockets with misery and contempt,
overloading their contents, pleasure exempt.
I fill the dark spaces with sadness and dread,
overexerting the capacity, till all hope is dead.

I shove bits of hatred, and pieces of despair,
into tightly abound, depressed pockets I wear.
I force fists of fury, into perfect folds of misery,
massive bulging indignation, that only I can see.

I line its gruesome insides, with terror and pain,
thrusting handfuls of vanity with bouts of shame.
I lunge towards its innards, like a thrusting rocket;
these dark grisly holes, inside deadly filled pockets.
Friday, February 4, 2011
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COMMENTS
Sue Bickford 07 February 2011
What a captivating, deep piece. Such an exceptional write. I hope this is no reflection of how you truly feel, for your beauty (inside and out) should always be a beacon of light away from the darkness. Simply amazing.
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