By tmedders on 11/16/2013
This heart it beats,
These lungs they breath.
But who among these restless demons that haunt me in my final hours can care?
They anticipate my fall from true happiness into the darkest depths of what is my pain.
Who among them can claim innocence?
Who is the sole savior of this broken man the world shuns?
Not god nor demon.
Beneath the moons waxing figure,
Here lies a man torn apart in his hour of desperate need.
These blades can cut me no longer,
This knife digs no further into my heart of ice.
These veins no longer flow rich with the blood of a man,
They become parched and neglected from hate and anguish.
Left unchecked like a flower in the window during summer,
Silently drowning in what is left of its light.
There is no humanity anymore,
Life is a game that none but the great red jester can control.
Silence is a curse that those who embrace it can solemnly swear by.
But no secrets revealed can satisfy the question worthy of a thousand years praise.
Life is hell,
There are no shortcuts.
Riddled with shame and false promises for the fools and those of simple minds,
Even in the end there is no extinguishing the flame of hatred that we as people fuel.
Blood for blood,
An eye for an eye.
Tooth for a tooth,
Through it all this daunting figure still stands.
? By tmedders On 11/16/2013 7:29:45 AM