What a lingering, cold existence
devoid of humanity
all emotion frozen
by life's raw atrocity

Surely I have bled inside,
my essence cruelly devoured
and in the dry, cracked soil this seedling
of deep despair has flowered.

Sorrow fills my dying spirit,
a chimera I cannot dispel
Imbrues my battered psyche,
maintains this prison cell

Is there no hope of redemption?
No elixir to make me whole?
Will my own tears forever Burn
the wounds of my crimson soul?

So tattered and beaten,
drenched in its own blood,
drowning in the ashes
that flake and fall there from.

Shall I in this dark place languish,
Devoid of all compassion?
Living on naught but wisps of dreams
and any warmth I can imagine?

Perhaps this wounded soul
Dreads not expelling its last breath?
Laments not its own deep anguish
as it tastes the throes of death?

Crushed, alone, it lingers,
sure the Reaper craves his toll,
for whom but the dark entity
would crave such a withered soul?


****All of my poems are original and under copywrite. If you would like to use them, please ask me. Thank you. :)****