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His hell

November 5, 2012


Walking downtown,

Into the quietness and creepiness in the dim,

shadows lurking around,

aware of his path,web of destruction,

But he wanted to stand still… face his ghosts,

Suddenly he breaks down.

The force within shattered his thoughts,

Bleeding from the inside,

Flooding the atmosphere with dark sensations,

He detested the light that rejected him,

He could not partake the flesh with the saints,

He licked the remains and the ashes,

He could not afford to jump

because his eyesight was focused on the string,

But the string hang from the unknown in the stars,


It hit hard it injured him beyond recognition,

His heaven now is in solitude,

His path with the deformed,

Do not try to find him,

The harsh reality has instilled a wound,

Scars always fresh,

The burning sensation in sync with his sorrow,

Sorrow symphony,

Hanging dolls of misery,

The dungeon door opens,

Light peeked through,

But the force within rendered his efforts useless,

Shut your desires for him,

Dig up other unconquered lands,

He saw the devil in every soul,

He was just an innocent victim,

Now he lives by the knife,

He cannot stand mortality near him.


From → dark poetry

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