A poem written by Michael J. Rietscha
The flames of the fire
from desire flow through my veins.
Every second my blood begins to boil
from this desire for the soil to cover me,
to cover my flesh to rot and take with it my pain.
Oh, how I desire for the negative, taunting voices to disappear.
My words of flowers and sweetness of sugar
are never heard to others,
only their words of nails and razors tongues are what rip
through my ears, my skull, my brain.
I no longer want to reside in this mean, hateful world.
Words do more damage than any torture device ever invented
could ever do.
Sticks and rocks may break bones,
but words can break the soul of the strongest athlete.
An athlete I am not, a broken soul I am.
© 2016 Mental Health Association of Northwestern PA