A/N: This poem is written on the hypothetical situation where the passing of a loved one leads to a downward spiral of insanity for the narrator. The repetition at the end is planned to be done so sloppily, to reflect the unease in the person's mind.
Also, ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲ ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ
You'll never see past this beautiful smile,
A disguise so flawlessly crafted by your own two hands.
After it has been such a very long while,
You'd probably guess that this is where our bitter story ends?
Perhaps you were of simple ignorance,
But this tragic tale shall extend to the end of time.
Though this where our one path splits,
Others will take replace us by design.
Friend...
Lover...
Enemy...
What is the point of words such as these?
We will all someday feed the starving centipedes.
My ashes will look like yours,
And yours will likewise mirror mine.
All that it takes is a simple matter of time.
We can make it expand,
Or we can cut it down until only the tiniest fragments remain.
As I've said before - my dear old friend,
Underneath our flesh is all the same.
So next time that someone requests a helping hand,
You recall the bleakness from which you came.
If your time you decide to expend,
That is entirely your decision.
Though in the end,
I pray Hades to lose his precision.
Some pain to your head,
Maybe then you'll appreciate the laceration...?
Do you not recall?
They found me in the bathroom stall.
But it could've been you,
A fact that you deny to be true.
It remains to be truth,
So your lying is no use.
You wear the same mask as me,
They're just built differently.
Appreciate the air in your lungs,
Keep the blood in your veins - where it belongs.
Your hatred helped me through,
Now it's my turn to guide you...
Maybe off of the edge of a cliff,
Or perhaps an ending to this story where you live?
If you take my hand,
You give me the key to your fate.
Dead old friend,
You should've shut the crimson gate.
Now we will both burn,
Because trust is a virtue that you couldn't learn.
That cursed gate locked me in now,
But to the flames of Hell I refuse to bow.
You have some years left to wait,
But don't worry about my fate.
You've secured it,
I know there's no use fighting it.
It was the feeding hand that you bit,
That caused the lavender candle to become unlit.
All thanks to your impatience,
You just had to bathe in ignorance.
Blasted fool.
You were loved.
You are loved.
Idiot.
Just open your eyes.
Please.
Open your freaking eyes!
Friend...
Lover...
Enemy...
What is the point of words such as these?
We will all someday feed the starving centipedes.
My ashes will look like yours,
And yours will likewise mirror mine.
Friend...
Lover...
Enemy...
What is the point of words such as these?
We will all someday feed the starving centipedes.
My ashes will look like yours,
And yours will likewise mirror mine.
Friend...
Lover...
Enemy...
What is the point of words such as these?
We will all someday feed the starving centipedes.
My ashes will look like yours,
And yours will likewise mirror mine.
Friend...
Lover...
Enemy...
What is the point of words such as these?
We will all someday feed the starving centipedes.
My ashes will look like yours,
And yours will likewise mirror mine.
Thanks to you,
I've finally drown in my madness.
But now that I've cut you open and crawled inside,
I can truly say that your bones look like mine.
YOU ARE READING
Eighteen Seconds Until Sunrise |||POETRY|||
PoetryThis is all I have... Simple words that cannot begin to describe with any of these constructed syllables the resonating depth of such complexities... I'll try, though.
