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


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…

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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