Thoughts of a Loner.

Shattered Minds and Shattered Hearts. (By Sapphirus)

He sits by himself in a room so lone,
Shadows creeping along the walls casting music,
An act of hatred he adored each night,
The air heavy with lingering scent of olden scriptures,
The air heavy with the faint metallic tang of blood,
His wrists bearing the marks of thousands of indecisions,
Each scar a testament to the wars he raged within,
As he smiled and traced the very lines with trembling fingers,
Wondering whether peace lies beneath the silver's embrace,
Whether peace is a music orchestrated by the blade,
Or whether it is yet another lie whispered,
Whispered by his tormented mind.

He sits by himself in a room so lone,
Yet the world moves outside as he sits stagnant,
The world grows indifferent to his suffering,
He watches through a cracked window,
His crimson eyes observant,
As the glass distorted his view as his shattered reality,
The alleys below teem with life unlike another,
Yet he is the unseen ghost haunting the room above,
As his thoughts drift to mistaken past,
Where hope's flame once burned ablaze,
Now nothing but a distant and mocking memory,
Memory of disillusionment crushing him,
Each breath a struggle against the noose he hung upon,
The noose of reality willing to snap his neck.

He sits by himself in a room so lone,
Melancholy wrapping her graceful arms around him,
A heavy blanket of sorrow no light can penetrate,
He remembers her face,
The deceitful and treacherous face promising forever,
But left him with a heart full of ashes,
As he clutches onto a photograph now faded and torn,
And wonders how something so beautiful can turn so vile,
As the mirror reflects his crimson eyes,
Eyes so hollow as a stranger stares back at him from beyond,
Lost within a labyrinth of despair.

He sits by himself in a room so lone,
Ambivalence gnaws upon his mind,
Eating away his very remaining soul,
Rotten memories,
Rotten heart,
Rotten soul,
Rotten him,
He forever yearns for release,
Yet fears the finality it may bring along,
Pathetic coward,
The pills resting upon the beside table reckoning him,
Their promise of oblivion a seductive whisper in his ears,
As he is caught between a darkened limbo,
Limbo between willing to end the misery,
Limbo between the faintest of hope flickering,
Hope that life may still hold a semblance of meaning,
Yet the clock ticks away,
Tick,
Tock,
Tick,
Tock,
Each second a reminder of time slipping through his weak hands.

He sits by himself in a room so lone,
In the darkest hours of night he scribbled,
Scribbling his thoughts into the white paper,
Ink mingling with tears now flowing away,
His words a desperate cry for understanding,
A plea to a world that is deafening to his agony,
A bird caged and longing for freedom,
But forever tethered to the surface,
As the pen finally falls and he surrenders to himself,
His crimson eyes closing,
Surrendering to the haunting symphony of his own creation,
Where every note is a lament,
Where every note is a silent scream,
As the blade finally slits,
As the noose finally chokes,
As the pills finally create a magic to seep out his soul.

~ Sapphirus