Will you just leave me alone? Screaming in the silent,
This motionless stalemate is cutting me like a knife.
Reaching for what is no longer there-
Trying to appear I care when I don’t care.
Just want to run away, run to a distant place,
Where the sun melts my plastic face.
Find a place where I belong, in welcoming arms,
Live on a world of peace, where the ocean’s calm.
Where no more do I keep my right hand free,
Where peeling away masks no longer concerns me.
Got my back up against the wall.
Walking, but I ain’t there at all.
Knowing what I should be doing, but I won’t.
The scars in my back still bleed, ghosts still haunt
Weary from the long battle, the sticks and stones-
They’ve finally, in my armour, smashed a gaping hole.
Flinching from every little hit, grasping at straws,
Falling for the final count, lying on the floor.
Silent screaming deep inside, ripping me to shreds.
Lying here, pounding my hands on my bed . . .
But let the fire come, the armies, the dragons of the land,
I will fight them with my last breathe, with whatever is in my hands.
I will not die a coward, but rather a lion bold.
Though I may not win, I will earn my place with those who didn’t fold.
Screaming in the silent, bracing myself for yet another ‘final’ fight…
Story behind the poem:
This poem is probably a bit more of my cryptic ones. Quite a few of the references are obscure. It’s up to you to find them.
plastic face is something fake . . . obviously.
Scars in the back refer to times when one has been stabbed in the back.
Right hand refers to strength. If you’ve ever wondered why we shake with the right hand, it’s because it’s a sign of trust, since the right hand usually holds a weapon with which to defend oneself.
So there we are. Hopefully I’ve decoded a bit of my writing for you.
GZ
Source
This motionless stalemate is cutting me like a knife.
Reaching for what is no longer there-
Trying to appear I care when I don’t care.
Just want to run away, run to a distant place,
Where the sun melts my plastic face.
Find a place where I belong, in welcoming arms,
Live on a world of peace, where the ocean’s calm.
Where no more do I keep my right hand free,
Where peeling away masks no longer concerns me.
Got my back up against the wall.
Walking, but I ain’t there at all.
Knowing what I should be doing, but I won’t.
The scars in my back still bleed, ghosts still haunt
Weary from the long battle, the sticks and stones-
They’ve finally, in my armour, smashed a gaping hole.
Flinching from every little hit, grasping at straws,
Falling for the final count, lying on the floor.
Silent screaming deep inside, ripping me to shreds.
Lying here, pounding my hands on my bed . . .
But let the fire come, the armies, the dragons of the land,
I will fight them with my last breathe, with whatever is in my hands.
I will not die a coward, but rather a lion bold.
Though I may not win, I will earn my place with those who didn’t fold.
Screaming in the silent, bracing myself for yet another ‘final’ fight…
Story behind the poem:
This poem is probably a bit more of my cryptic ones. Quite a few of the references are obscure. It’s up to you to find them.
plastic face is something fake . . . obviously.
Scars in the back refer to times when one has been stabbed in the back.
Right hand refers to strength. If you’ve ever wondered why we shake with the right hand, it’s because it’s a sign of trust, since the right hand usually holds a weapon with which to defend oneself.
So there we are. Hopefully I’ve decoded a bit of my writing for you.
GZ
Source
