She shrieks at me again
This silence with a hoarse voice.
I close my ears to her ramblings
But she pries open my soul
Her tongue sharp
She cuts me to pieces
Wounding me like she has wounded me
Many times before.
I try to kill her — my tormentor.
But she just laughs, mocking me
Killing me like she has
Killed me many times before.
Again she shows me
They ring the loudest
The words that lurk underneath;
The voices we forbid to speak.
//Sherma E. Benosa; 14 August 2011; 8:41am
Tags: Existentialism, Poetry, Ramblings, Thoughts, Reflections, Literary Art, Rumination
First posted in P[e]NORAMA
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