The misery dripping with every line my pen writes in the delivery
Of words said yet unheard
Leaves nothing but the madness
As time shows nothing but the infinite sadness
And melancholy of my day, nothing but a life of folly
I ‘ll go to my grave
With not a tear nor smile
For I have no fear and am not brave
It’ll simply be peace upon which I hope to feast
And darkness for awhile
In my memory I hear the words
Yet the I do not recall the melody
I see the faces go by
Faces I once knew
Like the marker on my grave
The rambling of words.
Dancing round my head.
At a time when all seems dead.
The warmth of the grave does beckon me to slumber.
Though there is so much more to be done.
And before the dawn’s hateful light.
I shall go on in spite.
With rage and lust as my guides.
For within me all that was pure hides .
From the monster I’ve become trying to remember.
The me I never was.
This is how monsters are made.
This is all life truly does.