• As i write my last goodbyes,
    my tears that drop shall never dry.
    Upon the page my sorrowful confessions,
    in the church my bodies procession.

    On the floor, as red as roses,
    impliment in hand, my body poses.
    For those to see my short lived life,
    for those to see my blood stained knife.

    I see it here as clear as glass,
    the place in which I shall pass.
    A river of blood cascades now,
    upon my dreams, come crashing down.

    Beyond the realms of death and pain,
    where life does not co-exist with fame
    and fortune is a distant lie,
    like the hypocracy they try to disguise.

    Past my irrational thoughts and fears,
    past the flow of steady tears.
    Where no longer shall I suffer
    the insecure hatings of another.