Unholy Hell
Unholy Hell
There is an incredible emptiness
that will not settle,
a holy loneliness blocking my way.
They tell me not to think so much,
not to worry,
but the heavy quiet of failure drowns out that vow.
Inside these walls, there is no sovereignty.
Just hands, reaching—
everyone wanting a piece of me.
Only music remains a cure,
a quiet place to go to ease the road,
to carry this bitter load.
I was a proud soul once.
Now, I am stripped to the nerve.
Left entirely alone to survive their quiet contempt.
I dream at night, and the nightmares come to call,
and I wake up to the morning sun
already shattered before the day even begins.
More work is what I get.
No time away to sift through the wreckage,
to find what is left of me.
Just the endless expectation of another’s payday.
Deep in my soul,
my mind cries out for reprieve
that my battered, bloody body will never get.
The void is deep.
The pain is real.
The days gone by are misery.
Tough as nails they reference me.
Deep inside only history.
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