A hole is all that we leave when we go. When I lie at the end in my bed of sorrow, I will have nothing to show, except for my words; The worthless garbage written from hurt.
The madness reigned on every page, And at the end there is nothing left. All that remains after all these days, Are the thoughts which I have emptied from inside my head.
As years fly by and people die, The list is forever getting smaller. Who will be with me when I finally die? Will there be anybody left who loves me when my time is shorter? Or a single person who even cares. I cannot see it for I am aware, That in the end my wish to remain silent, Will leave me alone with only sounds of sirens, And people pushing down hard onto my heart; Which will beat no more. The love gone afar.
A long time since past, Lost to the fact, That I never wanted to just talk anyway. I ask you, please; what more is there to say?