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

Now nameless

Like the marker on my grave


Silence of the day

‚ÄčThe 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.