Impaled By My Own Grief

Impaled by my own grief
Like a butterfly pinned to a wall
I was standing on the cold soil soaked by my own blood
Among withered flowers infused with the scent of death
Embracing my misery as it was a bliss for my weak heart

Slowly unveiling the image behind the shadows hovering high
I discovered the reflection of my true self in their shrouds
I cried out loud, running out of tears of despair
Dressed in the sparkling veil that the luminaries made for me
And wearing a crown made of thorns and roses

All the most terrible memories introduced themselves to me
They appeared like dreadful ghouls and wraiths
Stabbing me with their sharp daggers
Reducing me to a relic
In the presence of crows and dead trees

I was an empty shell without reflection or shadow
Whenever I was wondering, it seemed I didn’t leave any trace
But only blood and thorns, a representation of my miserable existence
What I was I knew not
I became an enigma to myself

I collapsed like a wax sculpture
As I was an extinguished flame
With a body stitched by bandages and shattered dreams
Each thread was a reminder of the pangs carved all over my body
And my heart was a crushed crystal

The gleaming moonlight created an aura made of silver
Spectres were floating over me
While I was waiting for the stars to guide me
But no sign was there for me
Only the deepest darkness and squalid solitude

The cruel fate had decreed my end with the worst despair of my soul
All my cries were dispersed by the cold wind of a winter night
Nothing more was there for me
I had lost everything dear to me
And a storm wrapped me in its deadly embrace

Impaled by my own grief
I was the embodiment of my own tragedy.
Elisabetta