Peering through the stagnant eyes
Of the wanderer of the wilted wastes
Any plea for purpose in this life
Has waned with shadowing of the sun
Circling the cusp of a darkened lake
The surface still and unmoving
Only the glare of a haggard face
Reflected back at me
The haunted tide line exposes visions
From the final war
Inside its bleak emptiness
Reside the ghosts that paint our future souls
Death; the constant companion to human deceit
The militant art of suicide
To give into hate
The blame of the blood
Of cyclic depression and mental despoil
I can't feel
The closest thing I had to
Home has gone
The twitching remnants of my life has died
Who can remember why we walked this path
Seduced by the nectar of human mortality
The sea of ghosts at eternities end
Embody the hate, the envy, the greed
Empty picture perfect condemnations
An image of what life was once like
Float atop the shimmering surface
Before returning to the depths
Forever out of reach
Sinking forever, so pale before the void
These ripples inside space and time
Paint the passages of old
And through the pathways of life
They will soon vanish with the tide
Whispers
Remnants
Lies
I can't feel
The closest thing I had to
Home has gone
These are the remnants of my life
Cast out fling the cretin corpse
And watch it crash against the shore
Burn down the church of the sectioned pariah
Pray for resolution
The punishment of sin
Tortured for the gluttony
Flay and rend the flesh
Indulge the suffering as one can only believe
With no-one left to stop the pain
The cycle repeats once again
Deep inside the wounds
Of malformed creation
A smothered scream
Of resignation
I can't feel
The closest thing I had to
Home has gone
This vivid story shares my,
Pain but I don't feel
The voices in my mind have left me
Worn and cold
The knife clasped in my hands will end this all