Against the Wall of This Prison

With my back against the wall, I bleed.
The last of all I could ever need
Has gone away.
Empty of all illusion,
As to what to say,
I fill the void.

All I ask is not to fall, but I see
That the past has come to call and feed.
I pray,
Upon shattered knees; I’d rather be
Anything but this emptying
Self-delusion that I’m included
In what’s become better than living bitterly.
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About Jason Wallace Poetry

This is the page for my poetry. I have separated some of my poetry from my books to make things easier for readers.

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