A hellish nightmare, where the eyes not closed;
An encompassing forest with no path found.
Use your spilling blood to help you find home:
The box void of passion, where words have no sound.
The river is bitter, the rain has been shy.
Body's skin peeling, like the love from your soul
to the dirt that painfully resembles the sky;
So the sun is merely Hell's blistering coal.
The air chokes of failure, so heavy on the heart;
Hold a breath in and crawl to the cabin.
Like the festered foundation, your bones fall apart,
And the walls paint scenes of your demons in action.
A wandering soul, too close to himself;
So far from his words; He'll find them in hell.