A Life Spent In Darkness And Covered In Blood

I spent a life, most of it in black,

wondering when did the good guys stop wearing white,

And trying to remember the days before the good guys dawned the black.

Twas a life well spent, yet most of it in pain,

walking a lonely road while getting soaked beneath the constant red rain.

Lives well spent are full of joy and not sorrow,

lives well spent by people not looking back as much as they are tomorrow.

I’ve spent a life witnessing the greatest of pains,

a long and storied life, experiencing the red of the rains,

a life knowing grief and seeing the bloodstains.

Looking at the blood-red sun, looking back at my life,

I enjoyed an adventurous time filled with love, but mostly with strife.

Loving once, or twice, I loved deeply and hard,

loving them once and still from afar.

As time went on, life turned more and more black,

causing me to spend less time looking forward, and more looking back.

The regrets of a life like this run deep within my world.

These types of regrets, the things of grand stories to be told.

Beneath the rains of blood pouring down from the skies,

I see the others so lonely, feeling all of their cries.

I can tell no one anything, not since our last goodbye,

and to hell. I’ll be going, not seeing you again when I die.

You died in my arms that night,

leaving me to regret the last words I said.

Leaving only vengeance and sorrow in my life,

until I made sure I saw someone dead.

The skies opened up and the rains filled with blood,

while I tore through that entire forsaken neighborhood.

Not twenty, not thirty, would stop me from my task,

and I got every damned one of them, down to the last.

As I laid there, exhausted, worn weary from battle,

the sound from my throat known even to me as a death rattle.

I laid there, alone...I died winning my last battle.

I believed in the end, knowing it would come on me one day,

always knowing I’d die bloody and alone, knowing I’d go out this way.