hell calls hell
there is
symbolism
in death.
there
is meaning
lying in the
grave, there
is meaning
when
Hamlet
contemplates
suicide
and when the
poison finally
eats away
at his skin.
the heart is
weak when
no one
feeds it.
the earth still
disintegrates
when no
one is alive to
burn it.
nooses swing
wildly when
they hold no
one.
i used to
think the
blood on my
hands meant
something,
but now the
morgues are
alive with
screams and
there is
nowhere to run.
a face caked
with shreds of
skin will only
get you the
twenty-seven
miles to the next
town.
there is no
pain like the
obvious, there
is no peace
like your cold
hand in mine.
just another
name, just
another chore
to cross off
the list. blood
only stains if
you let it sit.
guilt only
suffocates
when youre
already soaked in
kerosene.