Killing My Pride
This is basically a poem about how I hate to cry; because I feel that is a weak gesture. Sometimes though, it just cannot be avoided.
Bludgeoned to the point of no existence,
My soul has been slain.
Unrecognizable and irreparable,
I am beyond the feeling of pain.
The once rapid flow of my life,
Has now become a slow and steady trickle.
I can taste the bitterness of time on my lips.
As if containing the salt for my open wound.
The whole that I have been slowly digging,
Has finally sprung a leak.
What once was perceived to be the source of life,
Will be the very thing that kills my selfish pride.
I have had my fill of life and reached my capacity,
For the pain and hurt I feel inside.
And these tears I can no longer hide.
My soul has been slain.
Unrecognizable and irreparable,
I am beyond the feeling of pain.
The once rapid flow of my life,
Has now become a slow and steady trickle.
I can taste the bitterness of time on my lips.
As if containing the salt for my open wound.
The whole that I have been slowly digging,
Has finally sprung a leak.
What once was perceived to be the source of life,
Will be the very thing that kills my selfish pride.
I have had my fill of life and reached my capacity,
For the pain and hurt I feel inside.
And these tears I can no longer hide.
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