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The blue horizons growing blacker by the momentIt is like fading away into nothingnessno place to go and no one comesThe future is smeared by raindrops from these bluesI would still be crying on the floor but angerwelled up changing it to something else                                                                                                                                   Denying the deep pains release,trapped in a fiery red lie of discontentMeanwhile I anxiously await the blackened wing of deathOppressed with cheerless days or was it just one long dayI would still be crying but the dark confusion stealsa little more, as for the hurt, healing is not allowedWhile you limp upon your crutches,around and around Golgotha’s hillOnly looking into the fractured eye socket,for you cannot lift your head any higherWallowing in your self-loathing,                                                                                                                                  as the thick mud dries and hardens,then clawing at the empty space, that lies in you bosom,without hope in a sad world of disillusionEmpty bottles break, as you sit on the cliffAlthough spiraling drunkenness never easesthe twilight or was it the dawn                                                                                                                                                            Then more troubles gather like vultures,to pick at your fragile skeleton of soulYou watch with utter horror,then with rotten jealously as they feedbut I would still be crying;I have too much to declare.

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