Dwelling on the past, he looks deep within
the pain he has caused
the pain he has felt,
finally seizing him
the guilt he feels, holds him down
these things he feels,
are not meant to be kept hidden away.
now alone he sits in the dark,
with the shadows of regret hovering nearby
his blade pressed tightly against his wrist
blood seeps out slowly, and the numbing pain,
brings tears of sorrow to his eyes
the ones he loves so far away
he regrets being so distant for so long.
an outcast he believes himself to be
but deep inside, he knows the truth
indifferent yet not,
the scars he bares in shame
as their voices echo throughout his head
the image resides forever in the depths of his mind.
he watches his blood trickle down his fingers
wondering if the world will ever change
if things will ever become better
his hopes are slowly dying
his dreams are crushed and shattered
the blood splashes with each drop
as he cuts his wrist over and over again.
looking up, staring into the eyes of death
the reaper's touch fails to steal away his last breath
the angel of death's flaming sword harmlessly passes through him
he realizes he is already dead
dead inside for so many years.
the pieces of his broken heart never picked up
in misery he weeps for the way out.
bringing his fingers to his lips, he licks them
the taint of his broken hearts contaminates his blood
in agony he screams and drops his blade
covered in blood he leaves
down the street blood drips onto the ground
leaving a bloody trail behind
weak and weary he collapses onto his knees.
