Mood: rushed
Topic: Horror
My blood drips slowly unto
the polished black marble
floor, veins release anguish
from within. No one is there,
no one cares. Not one turns
around to see me fall from
the cross. My heart fits
inside a rusted thimble and
this charred soul is barren like
a moon. Emotions are icy as
a haunting jury condemns me to
eternal life, daggers pierce my
armor as the day refuse my plea
for slumber.
My bones lay in a pile next
to the furnace in a crematorium.
Irritated by the noise of this sorrow,
a foul mood swallows my tranquility.
Watching the pain devour the omen
that was sent to me from the noose
of humanity has left me numb. This
haziness is the question that kills
the answer to my existence.
Running down the hall, I face
the reality of extinction. Death
dreams erase the hope in this
rage I have. Inflicting wounds on
this temple I feel enticed by
the pleasure to repeat this
procedure.
Posted by poetry/wolffe
at 1:53 PM MDT
Updated: 10/05/05 3:36 PM MDT
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Updated: 10/05/05 3:36 PM MDT
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