Heterodox was he,
As he looked upon the crimson skies,
Questioning reality itself.
Heterodox was he,
As he found himself,
Falling in an endless pit.
Heterodox was he,
As he chose pain over magic.
Heterodox was he,
As he wrung and snapped,
Snapped the neck of his former self.
Heterodox was he,
As he walked through the busy streets,
People drowning to the sound,
Sound of voices of his head.
Heterodox was he,
As a dark and gloomy day arrived,
As he was willing,
Willing to deliver judgement upon himself.
Heterodox was he,
As he felt the silver blade glide,
Blade resting on the oak counter.
Heterodox was he,
As the silver blade glided,
Freeing his very being.
Heterodox was he,
As crimson trailed from his very own wrists.
Heterodox was he.
~ Sapphirus
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts of a Loner.
PoetryPoetry written by yet another individual just existing throughout as any other being like any of you, experiencing life and suffocating thoughts.
