02-25-2007, 09:38 AM
Same here..
But ill be going soon..
The fingers which were once short, harmless, are now long, slender, and white.
The fingernails which were once innocent are now bloodstained.
Digging deeper and deeper, they draw blood, seeping around the fingers.
I cry out, realizing the self-inflicted pain.
One by one, the fingernails are torn off.
Each time, a scream follows, silent and pure.
No one moves, no one listens.
Can they not hear?
I look at them, look around the room.
They continue laughing, smiling, as if no one is there.
Another nail is torn off, a scream follows.
They tear at my flesh, thriving off my pain.
Unheard agony.
I scream.
Unheard.
I am falling.
Deeper and deeper, the darkness swirls about as if on a merry-go-round.
But no children are laughing.
No carnivals are singing.
Farewell To The Flesh.
Put on your mask, cover your feelings to the world.
Perhaps a clown to make them laugh.
Perhaps a demon to make them scream.
Your anger stays hidden, your greed and jealousy is concealed.
No one sees, no one hears.
Knowing it will never end,
The laughing and screaming will echo forever, I scream.
Unheard.
Deep within the recesses of my mortal soul lies a room where secrets they be kept,
there are visions and pieces of time, in this place it seems where the devil himself has slept.
When moments of despair over me do wash and horrific images crowd my mind,
I know the door to this room has fractured and unpleasant thoughts I do find.
This room is a dark and loathsome place, kept best under lock and key,
it's intended for the storage of unwanted specters, never to be let free.
There are times when I slip in to mentally fondle some thought, long ago stored in shame,
the Deceiver whispering in the recesses, at my doorstep laying the blame.
Skeletons line the walls where paint has chipped, then fallen, and dark nasties do reside,
old crates brim with horrid stories, dusty shelves are full and demons do confide.
Through our life love we might receive, happiness at times even offers a sweet tomorrow,
knowing we must go on, smiling in pain, laughing at death, there will always be, The Room of Sorrow.
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