I've ripped into my chest,
With nails so brittle and torn
And scratched out my veins,
Carving the rivers of blood
Into chasms of red turned still.
My wounds would fester,
Like lakes buried underground,
The pit left inside my heart
Became catacombs to climb.
Fingers gashed to make space
For me to explore my bones,
And forever within I could journey
Without even making a sound.
In time Death will come to find,
That its pain is unable to take me.
Nothing can surpass my enduring,
And I will survive my own autopsy.
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 12:01 AM UTC
I've ripped into my chest,
With nails so brittle and torn
And scratched out my veins,
Carving the rivers of blood
Into chasms of red turned still.
My wounds would fester,
Like lakes buried underground,
The pit left inside my heart
Became catacombs to climb.
Fingers gashed to make space
For me to explore my bones,
And forever within I could journey
Without even making a sound.
In time Death will come to find,
That its pain is unable to take me.
Nothing can surpass my enduring,
And I will survive my own autopsy.
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