Struggle down my old street.
Inside I'm an old bathtub brimming
with every emotion I'd come to know,
welled up eyes start to overflow.
I sleepwalk through the pain.
Sharp knives of rain falling, fists of wind pummelling.
Remorse at the hurt I thought I caused
by hiding within myself, avoiding the onslaught.
Shouting at a world that wanted to help.
Memories lost in dust. Hurt remembered of course.
I can't forget every punch I took
or each kick to my unprotected gut.
I stumble arms outstretched,
passing old memories; wrecked
and burnt out.
Throat spent so many hoarse nights
screaming at the sky to make life right.
Too many hours drowning
in my own addiction, self-inflicted rejection,
to escape any and all recollection.
In reflection a bad choice. I say in a sarcastic voice.
The same old pavements, with the same feathery cracks.
Same houses that once loomed, now just stare back.
Vacant looks in their dirt smeared windows.
No longer mountainous hideous lairs,
just empty threats with saddened stares.
Old cries drowned under the screaming car alarms,
self-inflicted slashes scrawled over my arms.
Now just scars and the sounds have all gone.
Those old streets don't seem so scary
now I see through the shadows.
I still get wary when I see a crowd,
but the darkness doesn't cloud my view.
I keep walking
A red lake of regret pooled over asphalt dreams
Split lips, stitches and gurgled screams.
Where once, my blood pooled on the pavement
but now the pavement is clean.
Memories of the blood only ooze through my brain.
slowly being washed away by years of rain.
My footsteps, solitary heartbeats on these cold streets.
But now I'm not afraid of my own mind.
Not afraid of who I am, or who the future me will become,
because I know deep down that they will be kind,
if a little dark at times.
I don't want to walk alone forever.
Friendship and love; like summer
are always warmer than a long icy winter.
But I'm happier and calmer
in this skin that I wear,
before I'd happily shed it, rip it apart
and swap it for armour around my weak heart.
Thanks for reading
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Peace, Love and Poetry
Kyle
