My Dreams are of the Most Torturous,
Horrendous visions of Pain and Torment,
Bleak Nightmares, Visions of Death scarring me
Like a Razor to my wrist.
Sleep is what now I am without,
Restless I often find myself,
At the mercy of my Suicidal thoughts and Misery.
Beyond the Veils of Negative Existence I go,
To where The Coldness in my heart is matched by my Surroundings,
Freezing, Isolated Forests and Endless Graveyards,
Always ringing are Funeral Bells, yet no one is here to die who has not already.
I feel now, and the awareness still is growing,
That I am at one with death,
That I know of dying,
And my death will not be long to wait for.
The somber, Depressive sense of affection she once showed,
I now realize is lost, Cloaked in the shroud blanketing her.
She died with no procession,
Her Funeral Ceremony was into my arms.
And yet,
I still was her only attendant to her final breaths,
Standing in the rain with the Gentle breeze chilling me further.
I feel not as if Happiness and Positiveness are things I wish not to adhere to in me,
But that I no longer can, for hope is no longer something I recognize,
I have long since given up on life and that something may take away this pain,
For all the things that ever cared about me have gone and have died.
She was the last one I cried for,
Now,
Tears are a pointless and empty output of my concealing sorrow,
For what point is there to cry,
When I know no one will ever see my face again.
The last I could give her was a crudely dug grave,
And the stain of tears and blood spattered upon her cheek,
Growing cold, gathering decay,
Her Mortal Beauty ruined and rotting away beneath frostbitten earth.
But her soul shall go on.
I am cursed, wretched,
I remain.
What point is there?
Along the path of sorrow I shall walk, and along the path of Death I shall transcend.
The air is getting colder by the day,
I am losing strength and I grow weary of this curse of flesh.
Let me die.
Lord Satan let me die.
Seize from me the life and filthy human blood pushing through my corrupted veins.
There must be a way out.
There must be a way out.
My skin is growing paler as I wander through the uttermost accursed lands,
Funereal and So Bleak
My eyes are worn and my wrists are in shreds,
My throat is slashed,
I bleed.
I am lost in bewildering percolation, leaving the snow behind me blood red,
But who cares?
Who fucking cares and ever did anyway?
Everyone who may have is rotting and corroding beneath the cold wintry soil.
I am dying, nothing is left, I realize Nihility, and I realize Solitude.
Death, take me in your arms; I have waited so long
Forgotten,
My pouring blood becoming Ice, my corpse growing colder.
Will she be what awaits me, or shall I be alone forevermore,
In accursed, Utter Darkness and Nothingness.