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Hold

What am I waiting for

if the only thing I have left

is this empty

Screaming

Fucking head?

What am I waiting for

when the very Land

on which I stand

is Dead

And my thoughts and ideas

have all been Bled?

What am I waiting for

when the Ghosts are closing in

and my bleating Heart has fled?

My Mind has Become

an Animal you see,

One I Fear

and It

Fears Me

Give me a Hold

in this sharp and

cold

wall of Rocks,

something that I can grip

and not

Cut Bleed or Slip

for the Fall

is far

into that

Petrifying Mist

and there is No

Coming back

from that black

Abyss.

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About marcofreschi

I live in the Ocean and write poetry View all posts by marcofreschi

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