Miracles Aren't Real

Lost

lost in this forest,

of death and dread, everything I hold most dear stripped away

one painful piece at a time

like bloody, broken, and monstrously torn corpses

lay splayed out all around me,

in the center of it all. They are the reminders of all held dear

Rotting flesh piled up fo high,

even the sun can not break the darkness of my tomb

Filled with the stench and slime of the once innocent and beautiful

the little girl in the park that one day?

that happiness dressed in pink gowns and bathed in sunlight?

Now, lays broken in that same pile

burned, cut, and disfigured in every way,

once-angelic face,

Now resembling a pale, dirt-caked statue

barely clinging to some indication of what it was

A perfectly polished marble statue, that stood proudly in the light

it's wings nothing more than dust In the wind

Having been destined to fall,

it festers, spilling out muddy tears and silver blood

Breathing death and unimaginable depths of sadness into all around

''.