The passion that once filled my heart and veins,
That once fueled all my love and pain,
Now flows away, a pale picture of the past.
Memento Morituri, and in the depths Im cast.
A pale passion, a picture of my blood,
A sickening shade of red, fading like it should.
A river of my blood, released from bodys chain,
Leaving little but my memory of pain.
The pain is sweeter than the pleasure,
Because I know the pain is real.
This life I can no longer treasure,
There is nothing left for me to feel.
Knocks on the door, shrill shouts of fear,
I do not care, my place is here.
And in my life paths final bend,
I was glad to see the end.















Comments
Glad to see you liked it
--
"hell is other people"
-Sartre
"each man is his own hell"
-Tar
"All in all, it's pretty much hell all the way, no matter how you slice the cake."
-Adrian Daniels
Join the revolution ! [link]
--
But that was the problem with my dreams. They were always too realistic.
Ill stick to my faux crème doughnut instead of my chocolate fondant
Pain. Sweet yet bitter, pleasure, life, everything washed away by what is to come... Loved it.
Actually, I feel inspired by it.
--
-
Don't you wanna' know how we keep starting fires?
---
...plus; i believe; when, we die... we go to the spiritual world...here we learn about; what, we need to know; before, we can be reborn again
--
you have value; you are important; choose to be the best you; you can be (just a thought)
--
"hell is other people"
-Sartre
"each man is his own hell"
-Tar
"All in all, it's pretty much hell all the way, no matter how you slice the cake."
-Adrian Daniels
Join the revolution ! [link]
--
"hell is other people"
-Sartre
"each man is his own hell"
-Tar
"All in all, it's pretty much hell all the way, no matter how you slice the cake."
-Adrian Daniels
Join the revolution ! [link]
--
-
Don't you wanna' know how we keep starting fires?
It's very spine chilling and deep.
Keep up the good work!
--
The illusion is that you are simply reading this poem.
The reality is that this is more than a poem. -Bukowski
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