Brian Patrick
So isolated
My being feels like lead
groping, groping
my fingers raw with ripped flesh
Rotting, putrid air
Breathing becomes a burden
Walls keep closing in
Dark, dank and musky
The ***** *******
The cunning **** that he is
Exiled me to this earthly dungeon
My sentence to be drawn by death
The constant murky mess
Sludge that seeps in every pore
Without forethought or feeling
Life without touch; death
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
Brian Patrick
So isolated
My being feels like lead
groping, groping
my fingers raw with ripped flesh
Rotting, putrid air
Breathing becomes a burden
Walls keep closing in
Dark, dank and musky
The ***** *******
The cunning **** that he is
Exiled me to this earthly dungeon
My sentence to be drawn by death
The constant murky mess
Sludge that seeps in every pore
Without forethought or feeling
Life without touch; death
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