The skies are not so blue anymore...

The skies are not so blue anymore,
and tears fall from the gray clouds.
The rains splatter against my skin,
heavy, and thick, like warm blood.
I lick the drops from my lips,
and there is the salty taste of fear.

The cuts on my wrists, and on my legs,
are drained, and dry, and open.
The skin of my feet, split and torn,
burning like the fires I've run from.

My tongue is swollen, and yellow,
almost choking off my life's air.
The lungs in my chest are dry and brittle,
on the verge of cracking apart, and breaking.
I heave and heave, but nothing comes up,
my stomach is empty, and siezes.

I wonder if I'm in Hell, and I'm scared,
like the lost child, after the bombs go off.
Nothing feels real anymore, and I hate it,
but nothing I do helps me wake.

This nightmare goes on and on and on,
with no end to my torture in sight.
My heart does not pump my blood,
and my eyes are gray and blind.
When will I wake up from all of this,
and when will I die at last?

There is a door out there in the dark,
that I cannot see with the blood in my eyes.
It has a lock I can't open, with my broken hands,
that I cannot lift with my torn muscles.

It is a door without a key for it's old lock,
a key lost somewhere within my own heart.
This door bares my name, written in blood,
blood from my own veins, from long ago.
I don't know how to open it anymore,
I only remember how to close it.