Senses Fail Those in Hell
The heat seems to lick my eyes, jumping in
My soul, boiling my mind like the meat it
Has been, useless like matrimony, sin.
The smell of butane fills the air, my brain,
Holes driven in my skin, my dark blood drips
On the floor, the beat that drives me insane.
"Make it stop. Make it stop." Lips feebly yell.
Are these lips my own? Is this voice my own?
Cant tell, cant hear. Crackling fills the air, kill
Me is what I want, its something not shown.
Cant fight against the warmth, the deep embrace
Of the black cloaks, the glinting lights and darks
That set my one hope in an about face.
Hell is nothing. Life causes all the marks.