courtesy derekoverfield.deviantart.com
Your
fate was foretold;
though
it always takes time
one
must wait
before
shadows
dissipate
to
make way for the light,
too
many coatings beneath
those
hands
clasped so tight
the
only signal
that
betrayed
the
rumblings that
were
mounting inside,
till
against
the affliction
of
your own will
your
tongue rebelled;
admittedly,
Freudian speech
was
never meant to
be
stilled.
Praised
be your
blessed
lips!
that
cut through this chase
of
dynamite infiltrated feelings
barely
covering ruination's face;
revelling
in sharpened wit
its
stabs, bleeding
deceit
dry
tossing
it over the curb
not
caring what it said
even
less what it heard
only
willing it to slowly die.
Confidence
seeped through
those
hands
clasped so tight
unwilling
to bring
them
to the face
not
partaking from its bounty
for
fear of its indigestible lies.
Their
only option
was
to quiver
splaying tormented fingers wide
opening
their space
of
secrets and lies...
My Inspiration: The Human Condition
© KohylahPiper 2015
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