Sometimes I feel like A drunk driver, Speeding down the highway, 120 miles per hour. Intoxicated, On hate, On fear. Hatred for the one who's left, Fear of losing another. Then CRASH, an emotional explosion, Hitting a wall, A dead end. It's all too familiar, I've been here before. I know the pain, The smell of hate. I know what's going on, How to handle it. So I do, I drag myself from the mess. The tears, Not of pain, But of hatred. The cold grip of death freezes them, Emotional death, Recurring. A never-ending cycle Of his own emotional wrath On me.
Notes From The Author: You may e-mail me with any comments about my poetry.
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