Kill The Flame

Dead, Walking

I feel I'm dead and walking.
My grave decorated with flowers blacked by rot.
My soul crawling; clawing through the dirt trying to get out.
Forever scratching at the soil, forever failing.

"R.I.P." my tombstone says.
But I know all but peace.
Loving it says but I was everything but.
Loyal it says, but not even to myself was I.

I could remember that moment where I coined that final nail on my coffin.
I could remember digging the grave with words and actions.
I could see myself gladly and knowingly getting into the grave that's my life now.
Praises I'd been happy to listen to with a smile now only become a dirge in my own funeral service.
My said friends whose feet now trudge on the grass above me.

My happiness now only the worms running from my eyes.
Tears my only companion and wailing my eternal friend.
Regrets my sole thought.

I feel I'm dead, and walking is getting harder.
I feel I'm rotting and my legs failing.
I feel in death there's no walking.