Overwritten

Overwritten

When I try to read
all the things I have written…

its like a knife…
turning round, in my heart. (through my chest.)
something soft, something open.
embarrasment, guilt,
heartbrake and shame.
All the pains
of my past
keeps on rolling,
making it through.
it’s almost much for a person
to ever even bear.
(if only just a glance).

When I try to read it,
even to speak it, or feel it…
a million eyeballs
of this world,
is turned into
a horde with bullets and blades.
All my shame, Arrow rains,
now wounding, now piercing…

always leaving some invisible mark…
in my heart, in my eyes.
For all of these words…
they might become something more now…
something sore… something open…
I see myself… rolled into letters…
shaped into words…
a heartbeat unfolding… becoming…
on a fragile parchment or screen…

in a page much too bright..like the reflection of snow…
or sun shanged into eyeballs.
Signs of black must cover up… shadows…
or a stream filled with blood…
every cut, every wound,
painted over…
with these symbols and words.
…
To make it seem, or to feel…
as if there’s nothing, nothing there,
that could bleed.