Freedom in Chains

The clock is ticking
What is this I’m drinking?
Drowning, drowning
In a glass
Brownish liquid tries to pass
I reach my hand
No one to hold
And then I notice
My feet are cold
There’s a hole in my soul beyond repair
Undoubtedly it’s just me that cares
Too quick to notice
Them flickering by
Is it safe to say that my mind has been tried?
If a heart is stabbed
It is guaranteed to bleed
But does that mean
That the wounds of the soul
Are meant to be freed?

9inety's picture

A wounded soul.

I think we all can relate to the slashing agony of that hurt you portray in your poem.
I truly believe a willing soul can heal, time is the exponent of life that serves as the souls salve, time can scale over the scab, leaving a scar that know else can see, although it is real. Time and sharing your soul with other like souls...
keep writing it is good for the soul

"One of the best results of life, is the torment of love"

Dylan Eliot