a poem by Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Montik, USA - poetry writer, author, poet

Empty like a grave just waiting
to be dug and filled with tears,
my broken soul drifts in a deep
black abyss of intense desolation.

Each individual scar upnon my
trampled and tossed- out heart
stings sharply and I grasp icy air
trying to keep from plunging down.

A prisoner within my own mind I
can't see past the dirty memories
of what you have done to
cause me to tumble into myself.

Whimpering from the searing pain
burning its way through my numb heart
I glimpse the crushed eyes that
define my torn insides in the mirror.

Those unhappy eyes plead me to acknowledge
the very question which has lost its
answer when my world had gone black;
Who are you?

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