Wasted, filthy, decayed.
Groaning for freedom and peace.
Hope is a far off fairytale.
Just a pleasurable fantasy.

Life devoid of joy.
Darkness in a search for treasure.
Attempting to fill the void
With thirty pieces of tarnished silver.

No fullfillment there-
Only more chains, more shackles,
More pain and despair.

Detestable, despicable, vile.
No life, just death.
No peace, no rest.
Torn and abused, broken, destroyed.
The will is gone.
Death has won.
No strength to run.
Done.
It's over.

Plunging deep into the filth,
Grasping for beauty and grace.
Breaking the surface with empty hands
And soiled dreams.

Nothing lovely there-
Just ragged wounds;
No melody here-
Just drunkards' tunes.

No hope in death, No hope in life.
Just one endless, painful, hopeless fight.

No hope, no peace, relentless pain.
Too weary to care,
Yet somehow aware.
Dim, halflight; decieving shadows
Filled with traps, tripwires,
Pitfalls and mires.

Broken, torn, neardead, tired;
Burned alive by unquenchable fire.

Will it ever be over?

Searching for beauty; Unable to find.
Trying to create, bless, design.

The beauty is torn and horribly marred-
An attempt to adorn with a result of scars.
A rose peirced by it's own thorns;
Broken, stained, *****, and torn.

Drowning in a flooding shower,
Defiled by the life it chose.
A hopeless, lifeless, whitherd flower-
But still a rose.