Buried alive
In the projects
Called life..
My only ally is time
trust no one
because every one
consists of lies

it's all dark
All is black
death aims at me
Point blank
Ignorence is bliss
wishing I didn't know any of this
But I can feel it's presence
constantly... a desire.. a curiosity.

waiting for the occasional spark
maybe it's Death, taking a life
like a devouring shark..
naked in my grave
with only a scarred
leather book
and a quill with enough ink
to write a lifestory

So i'm writing my pages
my story that I want to tell
but with every spark of light
I can't telll.. these words
and sentences.. are strange to me..
I didn't write this..

Did somebody stole it?
Living the story I want to tell?
A story about a nice life
with good people
And a world that isn't Hell?

Hate surges up within me..
I quit writing, not a letter written
quill  smashed into the ground
another innocent victim..

My eyes open
conscience shattered
mind of a hunter
stalking it's prey
I'm going to steal a book
and give him my empty one..
A thief.