My Lost Soul Will Bleed On

My Lost Soul Will Bleed On short poem

I’m driving down this cold and lonely road in the dark.
I’m looking for the things that used to matter.
Is it love or is it fear that I am feeling?
With a loss for words, I sit in the drivers seat with my eyes sewed shut.
I always steer in the same direction.
This will destruct everything I never had.
It will take out the love, the fear, the numbness.
What is the feeling here?
It has fallen over the edge.
This will be the end.
My lost soul will bleed on..

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "My Lost Soul Will Bleed On"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Reyvrex Questor Reyes
Member

How sad.

wpDiscuz

My Diary

My Diary short poem

Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the

God Of My Joy

God Of My Joy short poem

Only in God do I have the peace The love and the joy in me Only in God is there hope for This world Only in God do we seek The wonders and mercy We have in Him My God

My New Home

My New Home long poem

I feel all alone In a dark place with no sign of life Sign of life being happiness and love The dark place is in my head Cause I have created this place for myself to escape the reality The

This Is My Stay

This Is My Stay prose poem

Within the imagination I am content to live This is my stay I see how plenty, how ever-expanding it is The ‘All’ a rich array Of ever-rotating colors with which to paint And never fade away This is my stay

My Ms

My Ms short poem

I mawkishly effeminate sentiment, memories plucked from wood and field merged in a sentiment of unutterable sadness and compassion microscopic minuteness of eye, misgivings of grave kinds mockery crept into your tone, molded by the austere hand of adversity moments