This is actually by my friend john curtis but i love his poetry........
I can hear these voices calling us,
It�s like these burning walls are talking,
Telling us that with every heart beat
We�re getting closer to death.
As the blood falls from the slits on our wrists,
We sit and count the puddles,
Our vision is getting blurrier and blurrier.
As time passes, walls begin to fall,
Smoke begins to rise,
The pain starts to set in
And take control of our bodies, and minds.
We want to scream but we�re too weak to make a sound.
All we can do is stare,
Stare into the world that once knew us.
