nothing666

Walls of brimstone

These are my silent screams
written upon blood soaked walls
dug in with raw fingertips
robbed of nails years ago
these are my tears
soaked upon a face
worn with sorrow
twisted in agony
leaving a salty silt upon it
this is where I throw my agony
this is how the knots I make
stay away from my neck
this is the drawer where my razors hide
so as to not slit this throat
my painting of dejection
this is where the sorrows hide
and build an army
to ultimately destroy me
once and for all
on the so called birth of a messiah
or to pull me under eventually
into the currents of societies depraved
and insolent urchins of anguish
this is my box
this is where I live
I am no better or worse
Hiding in my pain
As if these walls were made of brimstone and fire
And hell was all about me
Happy Hallowed Days
Blessed Yule
I suppose I would wish you all well
If I knew what that felt like

Shell

It feels cold again
Empty and full of cobwebs
A place so desolate and full of nothing
Nothing but pain
In it's different forms
Aching
Right there where you left it
This cold shell
Waiting until you grasped it
And crushed it
Under sharp heel
And left only a few red fibers of rememberance
Then threw it in a corner to rot
To be stepped on by others
Of your kind
With no sympathetic response
Just another rug
To wipe their feet upon
And leave the remnants
of their torture upon it
Like stains of wine on a white carpet
Upon it
That shell of a man
That once was I