Gray

My soul is gray, inky and broken,

Tired and beaten to a bleak despair

Where hope has disappeared from my vocabulary.

It is the gray ashes after a fire,

The mortality and faceless of after,

With no way to surrender, give up,

Just the beating of the already broken floor

Against my bloody knuckles.

The tiring of my mouth always closed

Of my home in the shadows,

Where I cannot even find the reprieve

Of old, writing.

Day after day after day

Of nothing, of an emptiness

In soul and mind.

Day after day after day

Of hurting,

Until I cannot even scream

For the death of who I was.