The blade gleams in the moonlight
A drop of cursed blood spilt at night
On to the dirt and the mud where it feels right
And tears from an empty husk mix with the blood and mud at dusk
The thoughts flow like water, getting caught in the rapids of this martyr
One less life to plague the earth
From ashes to ashes and from dirt to dirt
Perhaps one day someone will learn
The call of a thousand muffled voices
He can’t tell the difference between the memories and the ghosts toying with him
He can’t hear reality’s call, so subtle and soft in the midst of it all
It gets forgotten, like a leaf after fall
Woken up by a shock he breathes in with agony
In disbelief that he’s awake and here with me
An averted glance, another missed chance to tell him how much he matters, but the moment is gone and he’d rather lay in silence
Unable to speak, he can’t find the words
The questions ring, ones he’s already heard a dozen times before
Another lie, a few uplifting notes mark the chorus
Released into the world, he plans his next plot to herald in peace to his life
And the cycle goes round until he finally lands in the ground
The life of one suicidal.
1 comment
That was wonderful