Blood is nectar
my sting a wasp’s
the sweat release
of death is soft
There’s a hole ripped in my heart
where the blood won’t flow
I weep alone, in the dark
as I feel it grow,
pain’s all I get to know
I try to walk amongst the Dead,
they rip me to and fro
pull me apart, thread by thread,
always messing with my head,
they take my hand, fork my path
My envy grows for the Dead,
those heroes from the past,
calm and happy, without stress
I know one day, I’ll finally rest
when I die, I’ll be at peace.
Not sure if this needs revisions, but wanted to make sure I had it up here for Friday the 13th. 13/11/15 = 0.0787878… That’s pretty cool to me.
A pile of death lay at my feet,
a sin each day that I repeat
their lifeless bodies gaze up at me,
a few still twitch, how cursed to be
my hands are stained with virgin blood,
I bash their skull, wince at the thud
when I snap their neck, I feel each crack,
if that doesn’t work, I just break their back
How could all life be sapped from death?
what I used to love, I seldom lust
a burden has become each breath
as I allow my mind to rust
I succumb to sloth, and gather dust
as I bask in my demise
sometimes, I wish I’d just combust
to end what I despise
When I close my eyes, what do I see?
Just the dead, staring back at me.