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Rated: E · Poetry · Drama · #1896017
A poem about the lost creatures that I use to be and how they hide deep inside me.

-Shadows of This Heart-
by
Keaton Foster

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Tick, tock
There goes the clock
Counting down the end
Leaving no room for mistakes
Just like so many choices
That cannot be taken back
Time has become more of a god
Then anything else in my life
Eagerly I write these words
Sincerity laden with hope
That I do not have.

Monsters and demons
Without any reason
Shadows of this heart
And the former creature
That I was once forced to become
So many terrible things live
Like lost abandoned children
Fearful of being beaten
They make themselves
Hard to find even though
They are slowly starving to death.

Self-preservation means nothing
The redundancy of their existence
When one finally succumbs
There are always others
To takes their place
No esteem is held for them
No regard is considered theirs
They are unquantifiable nothing
Obliterated beings of damnation.

Existing like an infestation of bugs
Screaming to be exterminated
Threatening if they are not
Then they will strike back
Infecting their own version of justice
Such a concept is too far simple
With regard to what they intend
If they are further provoked
They will go to the edge without hesitation.

Shadows of this heart
Live from one beat to the next
Life, such an impossible wilderness
I know what I am saying
Because I know who I am
Closer to one, both them and I become
A unified front of beings combined
Into one over-indulgent narcissist
Who can’t get enough of his own thoughts
Even if at times, they make not a damn bit of sense…



Shadows of This Heart
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012.

© Copyright 2012 Keaton Foster: Know My Hell! (keatonfoster at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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