With a joint in one hand, a knife in the other.
A contemplation of what a life it could have become.
Obligation a ties aside, nothing can extinguish what the pain alone.
With an eye on the falling blood, I raise my head unto the light.
It called me here, it's screams deafening every inch of being.
A simple life held in ones hands as I see the cold comfort of the lies and obliviosity.
With little faith in what life bears, no faith in what life's given a tear falls.
A tear not of pain, not of sadness, but the melancholic realisation that it's come to nothing.
No one sees, or hears, nor would they want to. The ignorance deafening a soul, deafening into a darkness which has become a comfort.
Passion in it's relentless grasp holding unto the end.
Disregarding passion, the clarity blinding although once was so simple.
Calling into the night as I ask once more. Fate holding all the less meaning.
With the clarity of death, bleeding hears dry, falling to fate.
The irony of which bleeding all the more, the final sense of happiness calling into the dark.
Peace in the end, I ask the light once more.
Because I beg for absolution, regardless of it's form.
Poetry » Life Rated: T, English, Angst, Words: 220, Published: 3/3/2005