naught but poisoned roots and decayed wood makes up my family tree naught but acid in our xylums, fractured stems drop putrefied leaves
By Conostra3 years ago in Poets
I like to be alone, in the place I reside in Do not call it home In the dark, late night solitude A solace in silence
And every morning, I'm dragged out to live again I carve my back every night, to remind myself of where the scars once lay, splayed for display
Pain Anger Shackles, all Their imprints burned into the surface of my flesh Metal melted, fused and melded deep within
In sorry form, I walk the bleakest white With little clue of when I'll rest my head. With no idea of what will be my bed,
