Poison
Ah such good poison I drink
Farther and farther yet down I sink
So even more and ever more my skin rots
Such little poison I have drunk to reach the level of decay of my heart
With my nails I dig them into my skin
Trying to ease the pain dropped by my rotting sin
an ever escaltaing drop into this deep cold lake
It hurts ever more just living for no real sake
Looking at my bloodied hands
I see my blood mixed in with regrets of the sand
The sand that represnts the hard times
The sand that represents those chimes
Of the ones who refuse to accept me
And to notice the real me
There heads are now lining the sea
All because they act like its impossible to accept someone like me
Another bottle of poison, I then take
This time for deaths sake
Will I die soon by the poisons hands
No I will let my self once again be carried by the sand
Ill once again hear it, the chimes
Coming from all the heads that flew in these hard times
This planet is a hell its impossible to say otherwise
So for the clock to wind clock wise
I take another gulp of my beloved poison in your sight
And watched my chest rot, just right
I dig into it and snatched up my dead heart
And this Is the one little part
That caused me so much pain
That caused me to become insane
This rotten think called my heart ive longed to sell for so long
If only I could replace it with a pure one and hear a cheerful song
and i ask will this s**t ever end soon please i beg of you
my dearest poison arnt you suppose to kill me this shouldnt be new
to end all my pain right now is why i drink you right
so do as i say and end all my suffering and show me the light
i wonderd in this darkness for so long
being forced with regret to hang onto lifes song
so why are you not killing me
when living is killing me
why am i still alive rotting away
the answer is what i ask you now could up please say...
View User's Journal
poems
please read and comment
 |
User Comments: [1] [add]
User Comments: [1] [add]
Community Member
Believe in the unbelievable because
believing doesn't always have to be seeing.
Nature never deceives us; it is we who deceive ourselves.
- Jean-Jacques Rousseau