Pain;
it builds,
it beckons…
Torture,
it seeps into veins,
it fills the soul,
numbness comes to fruition.
Holding these emotions at bay.
Scraping the bottom of being.
Only fragments,
of former agonies remain.
Silent in torment.
Words running together.
This empty existence.
This worthless life.
Their tattered remains.
These lost little emotions.
Only a tired weakened corpse here.
Rendered shale,
by their hands.
Those same hands groped,
at my intestines.
The hands that grasped,
at the blood,
as it flowed through my veins.
Needles behind my eyes.
Hands, do not belong,
moving lower, mutilating me.
Growing accustomed,
to the sting.
Eventually,
beautifully,
numb.
Torture to breathe.
Soul of trash,
longing for,
the soft caress of death.
A cold touch,
never allowing,
that final solution.
Always…
Always keeping me,
dead alive…
Striving for a moment of solace.
Knowing it will never come.
One can only be…
The lady of sorrow.
The lady of chaos.
Those eyes entrapped,
the sweet numb death.
That needle prick,
still comes in,
from time to time.
No conflict.
Her demise.
Her ending.
Her silence.
His joy.
All suffering is beauty;
so broken.
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