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My barren hollow shell screams as malignancy curves the hunger of the broken soul hitherto be destined as fate. The lingering ascension of pain cracks the black night of its moon and hastens the flow of mornings gray to rest the cleaver in the shed and walk back to the red-stained world. My sanctity is some door a cement brick props open. The gaelic stream of prolific words curse the morning dew which tries unsuccessfully to purify this sin endowed world. Strike of the clock conjures pleasantries of scornful words, a mouth of worms. The barren hollow shell screams as the malignant hateful words pour like boiling oil in to settle and strip away what is left of my sanity. To be used is a painful memory, one that never rubs clean. I am a tool for hunger, hate, sorrow, and pain, one that has a whole family to ascend their blame upon me. I am the doctor, curing all my patients, yet destoying myself in the process. stare
 bluevibes · Fri Dec 15, 2006 @ 01:22am · 0 Comments |
