Grief

A place that makes
one's heart dark
with jaded numbness,
my loyal identity
ripped away.

Raw flesh a fire
I find myself living
from the outside in.

Hard to fight
against king rat
when the countrymen
become foot soldiers
for the blind leader.

Doomed is my faith
for the world cries
hard with waters
of crimson that
cast shadows which
dance in the
paleness of fear.

I grow disgusted
at my growing hatred,
given as a bandaide
across my overwhelming
hurt.

The desire to strike
the death blow
held back by a soul's
persistence to hope...
to dream.