Fog

I stand on the precipice between death and life,
A thin line like the edge of a knife.
Obscuring my vision with fog and fear;
Cold wind strips me of all so dear.
Which way I turn, which path I take,
Leaves me waist-deep in a murky lake.

Where are you, when your name I call,
My voice echoing off the wall?
All I seek is warmth and light,
But you are nowhere in my sight.
Those promises, do they mean nothing?
Empty words that leave me stumbling
Through the tears, through the pain,
Through the endless pouring rain.

One last thought, as I lie torn and folorn:
Will you remember me when I am gone?

[poetry] Dark Prison

((While not my first dark poem, this is the first that I feel safe posting without anyone sending me to a psychiatrist for counseling.))

The air is still and raw,
And yet untold horrors gnaw
Away the broken mask of happiness,
Planting doubt, reaping sadness.

She views the world through tinted lenses,
Dark whispers and murmurs blind her senses.
But the darkness was but an illusion;
The black thoughts, the Devil's intrusion.

So she sits in the dark prison
Of her own mind, her own creation.
When will she wake from this nightmare of pain?
Or is this doorless chamber forever her fate?