723. His Knuckles Poem by Jaden Knight

723. His Knuckles



His knuckles still drip blood from the night before
the marks added to the scars on his body
each one with their own tale to tell
not that anyone can be bothered to hear it

His eyes blaze with flames of darkness
each radiating their own chill
whatever was in them was sucked out long ago
not even a glimmer of life or joy remains

He looks down cast as if defeated
not wanting the gaze of anyone around him
trudging off alone on an unknown course
in an opposite direction to everyone else

Where he is going no one knows
in his mind it is doubtful if they even care
he is tired of waiting for the reaper to help
considering his options to proceed

He wants all his being to be drained away
not worried what may happen when he is gone
his love of life has been dripping into the abyss
just like the blood on his knuckles from the night before

Saturday, April 6, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: dark
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