Stare into the void.
They call me paranoid.
Weeping
Behind the curtains,
As soon as they fall.
Can't rest
My palms
On the ground,
The shattered glass
Will pierce into
My wounds.
Engraving
The grief
Into the cracks
Of my skin.
Screams
Overcrowd
In the chambers
Of my
Dark misery.
Dripping
Down my
Anatomy,
The wine red
Fluid;
Which defines my origin.
Writing;
With my own hands.
The story
Of how
I'll give up
On life.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 7:34 AM UTC
Stare into the void.
They call me paranoid.
Weeping
Behind the curtains,
As soon as they fall.
Can't rest
My palms
On the ground,
The shattered glass
Will pierce into
My wounds.
Engraving
The grief
Into the cracks
Of my skin.
Screams
Overcrowd
In the chambers
Of my
Dark misery.
Dripping
Down my
Anatomy,
The wine red
Fluid;
Which defines my origin.
Writing;
With my own hands.
The story
Of how
I'll give up
On life.
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