Each day I mourn, I rot within my cell,
A prisoner to my own foul decay,
Dazed and confused, repulsed by the display.
Sweet is the stench of garments worn too long,
Of rotting fare beside my fevered bed,
A rank perfume from A quiet tomb where all but hope has fled.
Beneath the sheets, I sink to shadow's maw,
Into the void, where nothing else is fed,
But the cold embrace of self and flaw.
My flesh fused with cloth in grim despair,
A grotesque union 'twixt the flesh and grave,
Where I consume myself, a feast of air.
The night becomes a grim theatre where my repressed sorrows play out.
A mournful tale of life and death unfolds,
A spark, once brilliant, now fades to a mere wisp,
A fleeting ember in the shadowed night.
And thus, in sorrow’s grip, I waste away,
A ghostly shadow of what once was whole.
The creeping rot consumes both night and day,
Till nothing but my wretched bones remain.
Each breath I draw, a prelude to my fall,
Each tear, a testament to endless pain.
A mirror shows my face, a hollow mask,
Reflecting not the youth I used to be,
But haunted eyes that beg the final task—
To free this soul from torment's cruel decree.
In darkness deep, I yearn for dawn’s soft light,
To break these chains that bind me to the night.
Aug 24, 2024
Aug 24, 2024 at 1:59 PM UTC
Each day I mourn, I rot within my cell,
A prisoner to my own foul decay,
Dazed and confused, repulsed by the display.
Sweet is the stench of garments worn too long,
Of rotting fare beside my fevered bed,
A rank perfume from A quiet tomb where all but hope has fled.
Beneath the sheets, I sink to shadow's maw,
Into the void, where nothing else is fed,
But the cold embrace of self and flaw.
My flesh fused with cloth in grim despair,
A grotesque union 'twixt the flesh and grave,
Where I consume myself, a feast of air.
The night becomes a grim theatre where my repressed sorrows play out.
A mournful tale of life and death unfolds,
A spark, once brilliant, now fades to a mere wisp,
A fleeting ember in the shadowed night.
And thus, in sorrow’s grip, I waste away,
A ghostly shadow of what once was whole.
The creeping rot consumes both night and day,
Till nothing but my wretched bones remain.
Each breath I draw, a prelude to my fall,
Each tear, a testament to endless pain.
A mirror shows my face, a hollow mask,
Reflecting not the youth I used to be,
But haunted eyes that beg the final task—
To free this soul from torment's cruel decree.
In darkness deep, I yearn for dawn’s soft light,
To break these chains that bind me to the night.
