Friday, May 27, 2005

Red-Handed Existence

Behold the blood in my hands
No water could wash them off
Some has already coursed through my veins
Taking its control over me

It serves as a screaming reminder
Of the bitter truths I hide from
The reddish gore has never left me alone
Clinging to me like a dirt-cheap whore

As night befalls the earthen floor
Voices within me become intolerable
Their continuous mockery and taunting
Led to my sanity's hopeless demise

The piteous cries of her unborn child
The maniacal curses of a scorned lover
The frustrated admonitions of an old woman
All have found a dwelling in my being

I am a cold-blooded murderer
I have thoughtlessly killed them all
No saline-filled eyes or gangrene wounds
Can desensitize the remorse I now hold

My insides are maggot-infested
This is but a hollow shell
I have come upon no peace
The dead never sleeps

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