The Untitled

I lie in a room which walls are bleeding,
dieing slowly in minute to minute,
judged to death in the box of hate,
feeling all the world's pain.
I wait the Reaper to reap my heart,
to take it to The Valley Of Lost Souls.
Frozen with fear, I wait the Reaper,
I wait my last deadly kiss.
The cold arm of death takes over my soul,
takes all the love I feel.
Takes all my future dreams and hopes,
all the things I need.
Every breath of this ice-cold air,
stabs in my heart like a needle into a cushion.
Burns like hell, saves like heaven,
saves from this chamber of a broken heart.
Rain starts to fall, it's like a desperate cry,
last desperate scream in the night.
No one's there to hear my voice,
to hear my pray in this night's fight.
There's only the rain left and I'm fragile like a thin ice.
Only a moment till I break down, only a minute till I disappear.
I taste the sour taste of hate, I see my own death.
A black-necked cobra bites my heart, a bloody wolf tries to heal my soul.
I want to cry, I can't. I want to love again, I won't.
I must feel the pain in order to know,
I mast fall in order to grow.
I start to fight, fight myself, the future, the past.
But it's just too strong, it pushes me down, I can't stand up tall.
A tiny hole in the wall opens, letting in a weak light.
Should I admit my sins to get up, but is love a sin?
If it is, then I am sorry I loved,
I am sorry I was just following my heart's path.

*A bit too long piece of crap, an old poem I found trough my books.

© March, 2007