Not Yet Spilled

Not Yet Spilled

At this moment of my despair

I have no angles to keep me from this

To keep me from my evil

I am wicked and lonely

My tears are empty and nothing wet falls

I hurt all over and wish to kill

I am lost in an orb of hate

A vacuum of darkness that leads me down

Harsh words scream through me and away

My hell is dense and punishment smells near

Like a crude device locked on my skull

Whispers of life pave my hindsight

A distant genetic call rounds me out

And I lay still, breathing hard

In blood not yet spilled

© 6/25/1997, William Grant Preston

Grant's Rants - Poetry