The Ghosts of my past.

January 26th, 2010-Life

Bred, like the morning heat,

The fire of this, burns at my feet.

The spit of the mist, flying at my face.

I look to the night sky, this open space.

Colors are bleeding, into my blank eyes,.

The devil is masked, and I learn to despise.

Things cross my mind, that I can no longer mention.

I sit here, alone, and cry out for redemption.

Cluttered letters, they call them words.

Fill my empty head, how absurd.

I smile to the open wounds, in, our out of, spite.

I look around, this selfishness grows, and bites.

A nightmare haunting under her blanket of salvation.

A bottle of hope, to captivate this frustration.

Disguising this consumption, as a state of mind.

Her head spins slowly, oh, so every unkind.

I cannot bring to you words, describing this confusion.

You are to believe, of her deep state of delusion.

My lips speak against me, in a misconception.

Reading through this relationship, often shows my discretion.