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Murmurs of My Conscience
Fingers, itching to send the ink spilling out
The thoughts
Too trapped to express clearly, through verbal communications.
Eyes closed in a half whispered prayer
That something
Will finally come out and it will be good enough.
Enough to soothe the desperate aching,
Clam this ever worried mind.
Quiet all the angry voices of doubt, so I no longer have to feel
Their icy lips against my ear.
Inhale, and the breath is logged between a closed off wind pipe
And oxygen deprived lungs.
There seems to be no escape for me.
And as twitchy lids rise once more
Disappointment
Is ever a constant with such a hopeless sight.
No written words fill ready-printed
Lines of blue
Just swirling tornadoes etched in black.
Fingers continue that annoying
Epileptic-like seizure.
Eyes are squeezed tight
In a despaired sense of failure.
A tear slips down hollowed cheeks
Because the will to fight has gone.
And the voices…
They continue to scream
Because it wasn’t enough…
