Torn And Begging For The Light

There are so many things to say.
Tripping on my tongue, my eloquence
Deserts me like courage on the battlefield
And the nausea fuels my hesitance.

Or maybe it's just a lack of practice.
I'm well-versed in verse, and this universe
Is no different. The rhythm's there;
So too's the rhyme, and I'm no worse.

I wear my heart upon my sleeve, but
That same garment is adorned
With a hundred others, much the same,
With bleeding colours. My heart is worn.

Worn down to fraying tendrils, my veins
Criss-crossing in secret patterns,
And nerves on fire, but still the dark
Surrounds, and I'm praying for a lantern

To send the strength that I have lost
And light the path that I must cross. 

The End

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