A hole dug deep,
By bloody fingernails,
By the strongest of men.
Many hands have scaled,
Her endless, dirty walls.
I bite my fingers in anticipation,
I taste nothing but mud,
My poor, cracked fingernails.
You no longer see,
Blinding light at her entrance,
Your retinas are pale,
From months in the dark.
Keep biting those nails,
You might get them clean.
H.J. Shreeve's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Despair by H.J. Shreeve )
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