He comes on a pale horse.
Hands that have been dismembered
Begin to wrap my throat as
The world around me dissipates.
As I look into his eyes,
I expect to see sinister in its pure physical form.
But as I look up,
I see the gentle tranquility
Of  pure energy.
I embrace the scythe
and embrace my own demise
So that I may be set free.

Heavy is a mind
That is chained to its past

Heavy is a soul
That knows no way forward

Heavy is a spirit
That keeps running around in circles

Heavy are the eyes
That never stopped shedding tears

Heavy are the ears
That remain slaves to your voice

Heavy are the hands
That knows no other feeling but you

Heavy is the heart
That is struggling to forget everything

Heavy is a person
That drags himself down
To memories that will never
Become a reality

Heavy are his dreams
If these dreams can never be
And will only be
The source of his nightmares

Heavy are the arms
That helplessly linger for yours
Constantly waiting for you
Though never to come back

No more
Please?

I've had enough

She is an enigma.
Written not by ink,
But carved in skin.
Each evening she fades by a cigarette.
With her, you will burn;
You will bleed.
Immersed by the smoke of her being,
You are in a room of mirrors.
Behind them she hides,
Only a reflection of her will you see.
She is an apparition.
Handing you a glass of elixir,
You consume her.
Soon the smoke fades away,
And the mirrors begin to shatter.
You are alone with her barren self.
And so you run.
Because it is not her who intoxicated you,
But the image she painted for you.
So she is left in shadow and dust,
As her heart is left to rot.