The way that scorn lifts a needle
To thread my existence into shape,
To weave an unforeseen future,
Filled with great uncertainty,
Makes me hold a blade at my wrists,
Fills my eyes with the Earth's oceans,
Empties my heart of its contents
For something else to be grown,
Never me.
The world has long been gone from my soul,
The world has long turned itself into Hell,
While Heaven was swallowed up.
The youth I've turned into tragedy,
The laughter I've drunk,
The pain I've called my home,
These sequence of events,
The telling tale
Of something so musical
As the Devil to lash my back
With ever-more mutilation.
My eyes cry,
As Hell welcomes me
In its fiery arms.
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