Dread is what I feel when I force conversation to escape my lips
Dread is what I hear when I hear your voice, or any memory you narrate in my head
Dread is what I taste when I taste sugarless coffee, bitter and desolate, always how you liked it.
Dread is what I see, when my minds eye looks back into the nights I held you near. It's what I see, when I see your half dead eyes faking joy.
Dread is what I smell when I get into my car and smell a cigarette or a perfume that resembles yours.
My life is nothing but dread. Every night is a funeral and every morning a death.
But there's still Breathe, so most would say I'm alive. It's as if they forgot our nature and what it is to strive.
My senses shackle me to this cross, which faces a movie screen of terrors. I watch and cry, continually suffering with widows and beggars.
Shut it off, I wish I could, you see, but another fear that holds life dear, Will not set me free.
It's as if my brain holds my chain and dangles above the key. It won't let me out, with the painful doubt that I will cease to be.
But it doesn't add up, this is what I want? An expensive life, a beautiful wife, something I can flaunt.
The hypocrisy, is like this democracy which binds us to despair.
You used to stand by and cover my eyes, give me a rest from the pain, but my wounded flesh and my horror cries left you with disdain.
So then you left, what did I expect? The world shackled you not, so I'll just remain up here, shackled with fear, watching this eternal plot.