Goth-Off Poetry: Page 3


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your voice, a short sharp shock
delivered over telephone wire
reaching the brutal wasteland of my heart
oh, misery, suffering, do you know my pain?
the sound of silent memory breaks the mirror of illusion
drowns me in their wake
i cannot sleep nor eat nor drink
not even the blood that you have spilled
not even my anguished tears
can heal the desolation of my barren heart
bound by the chains of unknown misery to this wretched earth
i have no escape