The Hyenas

The hyenas can lie in wait
only for so long.
Soon they begin to circle
’round my trampled spirit.
Smelling blood, they charge
attacking with overwhelming force.

Bit by bit, they rip the flesh
from my rotting soul.
Taking pieces for themselves
pieces I am too weak to recover.

When the feast has ended
I lie in the dark,
oozing of heartache and sorrow.
Unable to clean the wounds of
betrayal, I slowly rise.

Hobbling into the unknown,
no soul left, no strength to speak,
no home to nurse my broken heart
or heal my mind.
I roam freely, unrecognizable
as to who I was, or
what they once called me.

For I am but a ghost
that no one can love.

by Laura Riggs