Young Writers Society

Toska

Take my heart while it’s still beating

I’ll place it with my shaking hand

Into your palms, still warm, still wet

(Still shivering) It can be your brand

Mine is your name inscribed on my mind, it's grand,

this signature.

My eyes begin to fill with tears

That make their way down to my heart.

It is raining in my lungs,

As I begin to fall apart

From gentle touches that paint me like fine art

in my bedroom.

I weep for the lonely world

That I have long since left behind

But still with me is my love

My body, soul, and reckless mind:

The same mind that betrays me when told I’m kind,

lies to me.

And so when I begin to cry

Give me a moment to believe

That I am still good when I die,

That even when I can’t relieve

The sheer pain and burning agony– I heave

my stomach’s contents.

The real villain’s the one who feels

And hurts in the name of glory.

The one who empathises

With the good the bad and gory.

Still inflicts pain– Alas, in my own story,

I’m the villain.

Oft my words fall flat on paper.

A question I’m too scared to ask

Remains unspoken, unwritten;

The face I wear under the mask

Is for you and you alone, because my task

is to be yours.

Leaving left me in the bathtub

Saltwater drying on my cheeks

Lines of evidence of sorrow

Forking, dripping, narrow streaks.

Anguish: the new teen angst– havoc: the new bleak

so go easy on me.

What should have been harmless crushes

Became falling hard enough

To topple from the rooftop

Of a burning building– scuff

Both of my knees, I’m bleeding– rough

and so in love.

This is not a fall from grace

It's walking into the pit

Of eternal damnation

With eyes wide open– commit

A loving suicide, embrace me, admit

that I’m better gone.

My feet plant firmly on the steps

As I walk to’rd the abyss

There is no evidence of doubt

No hesitation to be missed

As I move closer to my doom, the soft kiss

of death engulfs me.