Dead men suffer not
while the living rust with rot.
Streams of pain drain from my eyes,
as I too, despise this rain of demise.
Screams beam from the inside but my
outside shines somewhat bright.
Like a tempest tossing me, I’m drowning
not of passion, only despair.
Here, I cry while the night
chases away my light.
Days are bittersweet, yielding the promise
of beauty but hiding the inevitable fright.
Lucid love licks my lips lustfully, lively,
as white waves wash wildly over me,
but they can’t run free.
I wonder what is right to be.
Fury runs free, as it never clots.
My dreams twist my hopes into knots
because others do not hold the shots
from a cruel life. I fight, kick, pound,
but I can’t scream out loud.
And so I die a death without sound.