DeadInterior

Falling through a dark tunnel, I will never again be the same. Recent events, have ruined me. On the wind, I swear I hear my name... Up above me, just out of reach, I see a light, and hear a friendly voice. But ahead, down below, is nothing, Nothing but darkness, regardless of choice. From the light, a hand I see, And now it's clear to me, I try to reach for him, He's here for me, I know... He hasn't been through it, Not quite like me, anyway. He was there all through it, For me, and if it weren't for him... They say I'll get better, that time, Will heal it all, like nothing happened. It won't, but I have my friends and family, To be my p

They say war is like hell. But 'they' say so much, And that's all very well, But, what about what 'they' don't say? What about what the blind see? Or what the deaf hear? Behind the locks, without a key, There is so much more. They call me a snake in the grass, What about when the snakes start to sing? But others, they just say I'm an ass. ...Well, maybe they're right. If you can't soar with the crew, Don't even try to fly with the flock, But me, I could of flew, Yet here I am. A nobody. A no one. A worthless. What if, 'they' are right...?

One little fluke, One small mistake, Yet it's like a mental nuke. Everything and nothing. Small thing gone wrong, Yet the worst reaction. A headache like a gong, Ringing through my head. Filled with a black haze, I can't keep it together. It consumes me like a blaze. What's wrong with me?

Luck is just one of those things, That some people believe, and some don't. In the end though, it won't grant you wings. So, what's it really matter? To some, it can mean the difference, Between a slow, or a swift death. Or put a rescue to something quite tense. But in the end, we are all dead. However, there is something of a kink, Something that I believe as truth., Take or leave it, but it's what I think. Luck favors the damned.

Sitting all alone in a room, A nervous kid jumping at every sound, As though a grenade's boom. But, there's nothing wrong. A frustrating paranoia, With no purpose or reason. As if in my head lies a tarantula, Creeping, through my very being. Yet deep in my mind, I know exactly why, From it, I can not hide. If only fate was not so cruel.

In the deathly glow of hell, Many see little more than fire and brimstone. But there are many shapes, for the shell, Of a person sent to the Under world. From a frozen wasteland, So barren and devoid of heat, To a boiling sea, which blisters the hand, So many forms of Eternal Damnation. I can not possibly fathom, What personal hell can await me, But I know it will be a place so numb, So desolate, like a late night, spent in the past.

Who am I, who are you? Are we really anyone at all? We react, and as if on cue, We are someone else. But how, can we be another, If we don't know who we really are? Some people, say we should come together, Others say to fend for ourselves. You may wonder, who am I? I am simply a boy with a mask. But, at least I try, To keep who I think I am.

Vox populi vox dei. The word of the people, is the word of God. There is something, that I cannot place, It compels me to write, with an iron rod. I know not, the reason for this. Perhaps I won't, not until completion. It's in the back of my head, a weak hiss. Maybe I'm not meant to know. But no matter what you believe, Something compels me to write this, For if I don't, my mind, it threatens, it will cleave. So this I bring unto you, for reasons unknown.

I wish I could tell you just how I feel. But that's pretty hard, when I just don't know. Of course the injuries I've incurred are slow to heal. That's no excuse I know, but doesn't help either. I'm just not used to dealing with my emotions, Like trying to play that new game, with no manual. Oh, if only emotions came with some instructions. That would make this so much easier. I'm so sorry, but I just don't know how to respond. Please forgive me, I guess I just can't handle it. If only this was a battle, to which I could abscond. I beg of you, please forgive my ignorance, but I just don't know.

For my dear sweet friend, who's so much more. I struggle to make these words sound just right. Yet, as hard as I try, I'm in my own war. I just can't make the words fit oh-so-perfectly. But there's a story, of a Soldier and a Rose, organized so perfectly, and set up just right. The author whom had such a way to compose. Yet here I struggle, unable to get my feelings across. Of course, I have only myself to blame for this, As I don't even know what my feelings are. But yet, even unknown, my feelings I can't dismiss. Meine Rose, you often know my feelings better than I.