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I posted this in another thread and as promised I am posting it here too.
Closed windows, books and coffins.
There is no light in this death,
No heart to hold my hand, no vision of hope seen.
I swallowed the pain you so carefully sent,
Grieving my death before my time.
All shallow words screamed, all whispers of love hidden.
A maniacs mind has set upon me,
No substantial echoes,
Only empty memories reguritated
As a reminder to my life, my pain,
A scrapbook of missing pages.
No knowledge in this death,
No lessons learnt here, no sentimental reflections,
Only a corpse to mark my torment.
All that I own in ashes,
All that I was dismembered.
My spirit spent and wasted on the vile creatures I call my own.
Even at my death, you offer no love,
Only a coffin and a bad suit
And curses against my memory, my name,
And a gravestone that has known more love and care than I.
Your thoughts and comments are welcome.
Jules
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