I've stood in front of an angel teary eyed,
nodding that I was ready for departure.
Spoken to a Heavenly Father,
with a weeping tone caught in my throat
that I didn't have the strength to keep living.

The devil had me in chains,
but Angels spoke to me once
"You are enough" they sang

Static in my mind,
as I hear the shakiness of photos falling off the wall,
the beast has come to feed on my head-
it wants me dead.

There aren't enough prayers to lift me
from what's breaking my spirit,
Spirits wept and spoke inaudibly,
"Let it happen, there's not much to be done"

Ethereal, but they could detect darkness all through my body,
in shades of red, grays, and blacks.
They frame my figure and display it in the gallery
of tortured souls.

Nightmares had predicted such a tragic ending,
when I bled,
the beast could track me down.
His claws are long and sharp, cutting into my skin
Its disease infecting my blood.

It likes the parts of my brain that are seeped in ink,
it loves when I'm alone and all I do is think.

It's stronger than me, coming to life when I write about it.
I hear it's heavy footsteps, deep breaths
and smell my death-
resembling the inside of its foul, jagged mouth

Angels will carry me to a place I might consider home,
they'll admire my suffering because,

I've become a martyr
to the imbalance of chemicals in my brain,
and with every moment my heart was beating,
I made efforts to fight off everyone else's pain.

Perhaps, when I meet heaven
I'll have a cigarette
and not be bothered by everything in white.
When my skin touches its surface much of it will turn gray.
Willing to die, they'll recognize my own lack of willpower
in letting it rip my heart from my chest.

It pounded so loudly in the beast's clutches,
it squeezed it between its palm and erupted--
painting the living in sinner's blood.