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black widow



As I look at myself in the mirror all I see is cold hard eyes, scared and armored, emotionless, blinded by the momentary euphoria and paralyzed by the mundane existence. Slightly closed with the worthless effort to continue the motions of life. Glazed with glass, impenetrable to anything it gazes upon. Blood shot, reminded of the endless poison from the comfort of the pain in my throat. The untamed thirst I can never meet. The longing for an imaginary moment of bliss, a mirage of life weightless, never-ending, and safe. Comfort that never lasts, that leaves me with the pain with every awakening, always harder than the time before. My skin lifeless, trying to mask the nothingness with society's acceptance, with a mask, a fake of perfection with darkness lying beneath. The black on my tired eyes and the color of my lifeless cheeks fade through at times, displaying the true character underneath. The pale pink chapped lips that have kissed the face of death. That long for the cold lips buried. Displayed with every word that passes through them. The jagged edges of my thoughts captured in language that can cut through the blackness stored in this world. The heart and soul that lies within is cold in it's self. Walled with stone miles high with a boiling fiery of rage that spits it's ashes on the burning ambers of the past resentments, hatred and heartache. A constant battle within, taming the very existence of reality. The slouch in my shoulders holding the weight of my little world as I have been handed, all alone, cast upon me by the wrath of the unknown being. The hatred towards myself, I have found peace, deserving. The chains that tie myself to this misery, heavy, unbreakable. The thought of happiness is just a fantasy, an untouchable gasp of relief. Going through the endless motion of every footstep, every breath, and every involuntary beat of my heart, which pumps the cement that moves through my veins. This very chain I will blame. The movement of everything dead keeps it living. The body that breathes and walks through life searching for a purpose but finds failure. Walking through a tunnel with blackness around every corner. Every dream, every aspiration has been consumed by heavy weight around me. I will continue to walk, trying to quench my thirst and carrying the heavy chains of this world…alone.
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Submitted on December 18, 2013

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brittany Whitaker Claim this poet

I am a widowed mother of three at age 22. My life was planned and drawn out, to be erased in one week of tragedy. I find it difficult to believe in an unknown being, i find it difficult to think that this was planned for me and my children. I go through struggles like any one else, but amplified with every smile my sons show or laugh that sounds like his. my daily life is met with grief and happiness. more…

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