My vision begins to fade.
All concepts of reality are gone.
The blood rushes down the blade.
I feel as if I can no longer live on.
The blood pools,
collecting on the ground.
I am now one of the ghouls.
My soul's lost, nowhere to be found.
Truly, it is painful,
knowing I'll never again feel.
No, staying would be fatal.
Leaving would be ideal.
I thought you were my angel.
Turns out, you were my guide to hell.
You were there as I fell,
You were there, ringing the bell.
My vision begins to fade.
All concepts of emotions are gone.
Why reach for the blade?
There is no more of me to harm.
I doubt you will care,
but now, I'll live my life in despair.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
My vision begins to fade.
All concepts of reality are gone.
The blood rushes down the blade.
I feel as if I can no longer live on.
The blood pools,
collecting on the ground.
I am now one of the ghouls.
My soul's lost, nowhere to be found.
Truly, it is painful,
knowing I'll never again feel.
No, staying would be fatal.
Leaving would be ideal.
I thought you were my angel.
Turns out, you were my guide to hell.
You were there as I fell,
You were there, ringing the bell.
My vision begins to fade.
All concepts of emotions are gone.
Why reach for the blade?
There is no more of me to harm.
I doubt you will care,
but now, I'll live my life in despair.
This poem, however violent it may seem, is more a poem of love, or rather lost love, than anything else. This is how most of my poems are actually. Hidden behind a false image of blood and death lies a symbolic meaning that usually hints to a more peaceful and happy theme.
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