Blacking Out;
Vision blurred.
I hear; but I'm not listening
to frustration..
Or your desperation.
Blood on your lips;
With every step that I'm taking-
Screaming out.
That dreadful doubt-
Plaguing my mind
with its own suicide.
The silence admits
To being the culprit,
If only we'd listen--
Would our blood run cold;
Would our minds be sold,
To the loss of our redemption?
A waste of our wishes;
All of death's sweet kisses.
We fall to what was once,
Salvation.
