The Untold – Dark Poetry by Adam Gainer

The Untold


I don’t know why I let this seep,

Inside of me, it cuts so deep,

This outside perception that feeds me so sweet,

Has created a feeling of coals on bare-feet,


A lesson I’ve learned, yet I never account for,

Loves that I’ve burned, yet I always want more,

Inside is a lonely soul, incapable of trust,

Life takes its toll; a broken body of rust.


Do I dwell, or do I shiver?

Can you tell me why my lips quiver?

Can you see inside my mind?

Do you see the chains that bind?


Or did you scream and run from sight?

Forever haunted by the light,

For inside of me you can see the night,

A hollow structure, where nothing is right.


But can it be left? Does it have to be wrong?

It must be so, and I must play along.

The walls we built leave me to lie,

Secrets kept until the day I die,


A loneliness that can’t be cured,

A heart that feels forever skewered,

Tainted by the ghosts of my past,

Against my own mind I’ll never last.


But am I broken? Have I fallen?

Has it all been spoken? Have I gone rotten?


A bad apple,

A dying seed,

A burnt chapel,

A crying breed,


Masochism at its best,

As I refuse to take this test,

Tap into my apathetic thought,

Showing myself what I’ve fought,


This isn’t the way, this dwell is heartless,

I have nothing to say, my lungs are breathless,

My thoughts rage on, inside my head,

And they will go on til I’m finally dead.


The thoughts will drain out, oozing into the soil,

A body turned to ash, ending the toil.

Nothing is left.

Nothing is here.

Not the pain in my chest,

Nor the voice in my ear.


I don’t even wish that you were near.

I wish nothing.

I say nothing,

I think nothing.


And yet, I’ve seen everything.


From the first memory, to that last shining sea,

And my secrets still lay in the ashes of me,

Never released, never relieved of the stress,

Peace, is it called? To be buried a mess?


Shameful ending for a life with such story,

Hidden within this one man’s own glory,

Never been open, to being outspoken,

Neighbors were frozen; ignoring the broken,


And now the secret is asleep,

He feels nothing; nor can he weep,

But the story sits still, hidden from eye,

It no longer exists and it won’t touch the sky,

The only soul to reflect it, is no longer around,

And it all had to do with that one special sound.


No one asked, and the man didn’t tell.

Now the place you can find it, is neighboring hell.


Never to be told again.


-Adam Gainer


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