The loss of the Key
that was given to me
by the people who left me for dead,
Though lies still arise,
bringing tears to my eyes,
I face it without any dread.
The doors that stay closed,
while the words are composed,
remain behind walls in my Head.
And yet there remains
a balm for my pains,
and the Beast that must always be fed.
I pour on the page,
the source of my rage,
and cannot return to my bed.
I am not so insane,
to stand out in the rain
dripping blood, turning puddles to Red.
So come with me please
and cure this disease
of the people who left me for dead.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:42 PM UTC
The loss of the Key
that was given to me
by the people who left me for dead,
Though lies still arise,
bringing tears to my eyes,
I face it without any dread.
The doors that stay closed,
while the words are composed,
remain behind walls in my Head.
And yet there remains
a balm for my pains,
and the Beast that must always be fed.
I pour on the page,
the source of my rage,
and cannot return to my bed.
I am not so insane,
to stand out in the rain
dripping blood, turning puddles to Red.
So come with me please
and cure this disease
of the people who left me for dead.
