Digging it

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  • Infect
  • Finding my wings. Be they of feather or leather, I shall wear them with pride, for they are my own..

Poem Commentary

Sometimes it just leaves...

Digging it

When did it happen,
and how could I dare?
I allowed it to slip away from me,
or maybe it just left on it's own.

Beating my head against the wall,
trying to fix a leaky vessel.
Trying to hold something in,
or make room for it's return.

The flow seems to have left me,
not even leaving reason in its absence.
This void starts to tear me apart,
leaveing a nasty feeling, like rotting silk.

Sometimes my heart cries,
it's tears slamming to the pits of my soul.
But the words wont come,
trapped in my viens.

Give it back! I miss my feelings,
this is my personal plea.
Silence greets my wounded cry,
I am left digging deeper, to find myself...

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

Infect’s Poems (28)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Digging it 0
Distance eternal 4
Monster versus memory 2
Rebel 3
Pale stars 3
Two Hearts 1
Made of 1
Blood on the moon 2
Rivals 4
The dark of your abscence 0
Your mountain 4
That feeling 1
Storm of daybreak 0
A dream of mercy 0
Contagious ramble 1
Land of the heart 3
Recieving the given 1
In between 3
Rant of the long hair 2
Senses 2
Loss of sight 0
logic in light 0
Fragment of a southern man 3
Molly Cantranks 4
Small Windows 5
Into life 2
Seperate ways 4
A scene from the street 6