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.