Even Though They're Gone

I feel it.

How the cold crimson liquid

Stains my back

And pours from the wound

That hurts so badly.

Not a mortal wound…

Oh no.

Something deeper,

Something worse.

A pain that drives

Even the sanest crazy

Inside myself,

I cringe and sob.

The pain that is there,

Will stay always.

For it never stops bleeding there;

There in my mental wound.

No matter how

I bay it to heal,

It seems to be

Too deep a cut.

Too sharp a hole to heel.

Still bleeding, never stopping,

Never giving me damned rest.

I can't stop it,

Only know

That it's still there,

Hurting me inside.

Though they're gone.

These terrorists of my soul,

I still feel the pain.

It's sharp and stabbing,

And it only hurts more,

When I feel the crimson blood,

Running freely down my back.

A fatal wound,

Is that,

Is what damned thing they cause.

It still hurts.

Still hurts.

I cry myself away

Away into my mind…

Into the mind where no pain,

No pain at all can get to me…