In My Skin

I am cunning.

I am a coward.

I win every battle, as I fight dirty.

And my definition of fair, is leaving you able to breathe, as long as you can still bare to.

I don't give I only take.

And break... Whatever's left in this case.

To my fellow traveler, I am the spike on the road.

To his fellow strength, I am an unbreakable cage.

To his fellow life, I am his cancer.

And to his fellow soul, only I speak.

I start in whispers and then get louder.

No matter how loud, only he hears.

What gives him hope, gives me dread.

What gives him agony gives me pleasure.

When he looks up, I look down with the same head.

Not sure when he's gonna die.

Been around for a while.

When though?

Not long maybe, and with me responsible most likely.

I'll torture him until he cracks.

When he cracks, he hurts people.

And when he does this, maybe the men in blue suits.

Maybe a victims friend, lover, associate, or neighborly commuter stops the blood flowing in my carrier.

But, in the family, maybe a friend of the victims, I shall reside.

I don't die with one, two, or ten thousand casualties.

I live as long as pain itself.

It is what I'm made of.

I live in the skin, until it turns grey.

I live in the eyes, until they are hollow.

I live in the hope until there's none left, and then I move on to my next innocent.

After all. I am a demon.

And my only friend is fire.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

First one I ever wrote. I know the stuff I'm posting are not really poems, but I hope you all enjoy them none the less. Not very satisfied with this one but I have improved. 

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bishu's picture

In my rudimentary humble view

even a thumb impression in two colours is Poetry. A painting or any form of art is poetry... Etc