An Old Classic Reworked

To whom does the keeper of secrets and sins confide his own

When only God’s and demons rival what he knows

And the broken fissures of the world he calls home

Is the only fractured and tainted image of others he has known


Temptations Taunt

I do sight an expansive hell of poison wells

When all I seek is the cooling relief of clean water

So to die a deathly slow torture of corrupted pain

Or endure the eventual demise of thirst induced insanity

How does it all crumble to a decision so unfavourable?


The Fatal Night

It begins oh so serenely on that star laden eve, a cover of light lacking darkness to hide this sinfully damned scene

All strolls along smoothly in a carefully choreographed cascade, till the dagger enters flesh swiftly in a manner that would make the word sabotage silently weep

To the fall a misstep carries the fated form to whence even demons do drunkly scream, a bar on your lonesome to mark as a gravestone happiness’s tomb

The damned do fit the fated bottle an awesome treat, as would a stream of blood from my fatally sliced wrist


He hath cast his will to the point it all depicts

A slightly slight of fated acts

The wheels to where he is bound will mark with stone a pit

As all his worth is refined into collections of words peppered with mournful wit

          Hatred so pure as to dissolve with a single drip any semblance of positive will

        Friendships lost to rivers burning through the bridges once so strong

      Love a hollow pit from whence the demon was both born and died

    Life a lie into which the damned sacrifice themselves to stay numb

  For feeling is a nightmare raised in the depths of emotional graves

And never sits right for those whose hatred is strongest for themselves

A Joke; I can’t cry so all I have to show emotions is by taking a knife to my flesh