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The Depth Of Death
December 13, 2009
Silent,
Cold,
I lye on the dead grass waiting to be on earth.
Blood is my everything
The knife in my heart remains
I try to remove it but it's no use
Death is a conspiracy of many things
Hell is were we play
But heaven is a beautiful, sacred place
Once you were gone, I had nothing
I love how I killed myself
I love how you love me
The inscriptions on the wall have no words
they are written as though an ink pen has written on it.
The depth of my death
The death at my fingertips
© Julianne W., Phoenix, AZ
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