No longer can I rhyme these words, I feel no hope in trying to write this down. My heart beats without a purpose. Is it even beating? No beat to make me live yet somehow I'm still here. I can't put this into words. It's like trying to make music without drums. If my heart has stopped beating at least I'll never again have to mop up my own blood. But still I'm here. So many words flashing through my head. There's so much I want to say. If only you knew what went on in my mind.. Would you understand? Because I fucking don't. I don't know what to say. I don't know what goes through my head. But it's fucking killing me. My heart's stopped beating, I collapse on the floor, the book I hold is empty. One last breath for my final words, but these words will forever be blank.
YOU ARE READING
Book Of Demons..
PoetryDone somewhat in poetry form, mostly quite dark, and a lot is not poems. Just stuff that goes through my head. Mostly about failure, demons, murder, blood, etc.
