The First Born
The First Forgotten
Thoughts of demise often flood my mind. Mine. Other's. The end is the same, blood, darkness, graves.
I often think with myself "is this worth of it all?"
I feel weary, exhausted and I wish to see this day's end one last time and to not be here to see the new dawn.
I often think of you. Your lies. Which brought me to see butterflies where lies only the moths.
Fooled, I was lead by hand by you to believe what were not.
More than ever, I no longer have the desire to tread these lands amidst these people and their evil endeavors.
The shadows lurks on every heart, on every word, on every thought and glance.
There's no deny. No one is pure. Must stop looking.
Even though I know this, that what you made me believe to be a lie, I want to hold on onto them and bring them to my grave.
Amidst your lies, I found a fake happiness, but nevertheless, made me feel warm. I want to keep it, I do not want to forget, but I want to stop feeling.
I often think of you, till today. And for you, I offer this gift, a crimson one.
I shall open my husk and allow its fluid drawn on the floor my disdain for this life and my desire for the what is better, the better that is yet to come.
Whenever I look at myself, I will spy these reminders, these warnings laying around this shell, that behind every mask lies evil intention.
I often think of you, the greatest lier. I often think of our demise.
Maybe there I can find the peace that here I find not.