Bottled Bane...

Hiss,
crackle...

A rising in my stomach,
heart beating, pounding...

Repetitive and simplistic,
We grow used to a daily routine...

Sorrow seems to follow you,
like a pack of widowed wolves...

A prisoner of myself, mind tormented by verse,
no sleep for this lively soul...

Do I enter darkness?
Submit to the shadows...

D emonic appearence,
A cid that burns your eyes...

Sunlight creeps through the sky,
like poison overtaking its victim...

Hate,
dispute...

Dawn paints a new portrait,
but the whispers of yesterday remain...

The title means- The Dead Glory.
Exmortis Gloria...