Walking Backwards Poem by Unic Cjonr

Walking backwards.

Returning what was given.

I struggle through my mind.

A gifted portrait painted into a curse.

This hour is not my time.

The fire circles the flames.

At around about 400 thousand degrees.

Not one to whisper.

Not one tree to form a breeze.

Looking for one lucky star.

I stare into the universe.

Blood red is the shine off the moon.

The clock on the wall tells me it is midnight.

I wish it was noon.

Automatic suicidal syndrome.

Bleeds in my veins.

I am wounded.

Scarred by my fear.

Scarred by my pain.