Fields of pain

 

Rice paper skin

worn wafer thin.

Losing

the will to keep losing.

Any chance of a win?

Struggling to keep smiling,

with thought of gravity

pulling down on me.

My lips feel anchored

to the earth's molten core,

or to some deep buried exotic ore

and I'm scrambling through the dirt

just trying to unhook it.

Fuck it. I'm flatlining.

Vitals signs declining.

I feel like I've used up

all of my clouded silver linings.

 

Is kindness such a rarity

that you have to beg to feel it?

Love such a lost notion

that you may as well forget it?

It's gone. Travelled those vast oceans.

Now just hurt remains,

here where it sits going through the motions.

 

I remember when

this wasn’t all fields of pain

where hurt has built a home,

to shelter from the rain.

When anger didn’t lay at the door

along with blame.

Shame was a feeling

that just didn't sit.

Didn't come for tea

or pay a visit.

Back then

kindness still

held out a hand at times.

The winds didn't only blow ill,

they sometimes blew through

just to hear the chimes.

They sometimes brought change as well

and change is about cracking that shell,

fixing the parts that were carved in hell.

 

But now it seems

that hurt is here to stay,

It's taken your bed,

ate your porridge and now

upon your seat it makes its play.

Love has long since

walked into the night,

realising that it only

ever leads to more days,

and in this instance

where kindness has bolted,

left the floor coated in hay,

it seems that I'll just try

to sleep the day away.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love & Poetry 

 

Kyle