Eyes burning ’til the light of day.
During darkness these terrors won’t go away.
Fighting for survival against vices in physical form.
Each sunrise I have another version of me to mourn.
Will there be an end to this ritual?
Can I break free of my curse?
Stumbling backward embraced by a hearse.
A funeral march in my name.
Consigned to history by roaring flame.
Drowning in this suffering stage.
Unable to start on a fresh page.
Soul screeching for some peace.
Not afforded an opportunity to be released.
Squirming in a cage made of bone.
Don’t want to consider that these are my own.
Piercing through a veil of failed joy.
Suffocating under all that makes me ill.
No option for a period of still.
Boxed in with the only door locked up tight.
Four walls of despair lack any sort of light.
As mutilation screams in my ear.
I hope for an end to these mountains of fear.
Subjugation beneath a twisted sigil.
I’m a barely functioning individual.
With bonds cutting into my battered flesh.
How can I hope to breathe after all of this?
Simon A Jackson - Writer 