CynicalGuitarist Posted April 7, 2007 Share Posted April 7, 2007 Isolated. Encompased. Stuck at the bottom. Imprisoned in the core. Down in my 30-foot mud-lined dredge of lonliness my cold, watery, untamed grave of depression, I tie another defective noose, anxiously awaiting my demise. As the water flows in, I reminisce of days where I invisioned what never was or will be, o my innocence; how I covet it so, as I seal my fate of liquid glass, shedding the remnants of my soul. In the final moments of my own mortality, I see why this martyrism must unhinge my chains; As God's pet, I prefer myself put to sleep, rather than be eaten by the inevitable tumor within. Here I be; God's pet rat, dying another premature, ghostly death. Praying for rain, the injection of salvation as my brothers; those beggars, thiefs, liars, and incorrigibles smirk at another veal's slaughter. Here comes the water... Link to comment
CynicalGuitarist Posted April 7, 2007 Author Share Posted April 7, 2007 Ugh.... why does my poetry always have to suck so much!? Link to comment
NKP Posted April 9, 2007 Share Posted April 9, 2007 Hey it dont suck at all, i loved it Link to comment
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