Mark of Bondage

A shadow of aggression dwells in the depths of your eyes.
The reflection of hatred you've tried so hard to deny.
The mark of lost passion, shrouded, despairing and blind,
Pulsing like an aura, slowly consuming your mind.

Scars and bruises inked and sown onto your bleeding soul,
as remnants of failed and long since shattered goals.
creating a patchwork of experiences, in life you've made,
Stitch by stitch, engraving a record that will never fade.

Muscles tense and throbbing from constantly holding a smile,
to masquerade the depression and continue living in denial.
Eyes burning with fatigue and brimming with acidic tears,
Aching with suppressed emotions, piled up over the years.

Walking quickly down a hallway, destruction flashing in you,
forces to recall the memories of pain you've been through.
You wear the mark every second and moment of every day.
It's the record of the horrors you've witnessed, on display.

My friend Joelle and I were talking to each other a few days ago and we were commenting that we could notice people who have had a hard life. They have a mark so to speak on then, a feeling about them. There is a certain "aura" about then, a feeling when I look into their eyes. So that is kind of what this poem was supposed to be about.

-Tainted