The Art Of Death

Her pale face on the floor
looks like i can do no more
her weak heart in my hand
no one seems to understand
why i do the things i do
why i cant control my pain
my deep blood pouring down the drain
the sharp blade touches my wrist
there is no cure to this
open wounds dissolve within me
silent cries that are never ending
inhaling the toxic air
living a life I'm unable to bare
maybe my last breath with console me
wipe away my tears and set my soul free
trapped inside this rotten corpse
like a room without the doors
no way out no way in
isolated in my sins
never knowing anything else
clawing screaming inside myself
sinking things into my skin
hoping to free myself within
maybe i went to far
digging the blade into my heart
but now my soul is finally free
staring into the corpse I'll never be
her weak heart in my hand
what everyone seems to demand
flesh bones blood running through my veins
stains the blade as i carve away the pain
invisible to the human eye
this is how it is like to die
there is no one left to care
no one even knows your there
your soul walks the earth living alone
without a place to call home
no emotions or feelings at all
no strength even left to crawl
drained out your everything
past memories of remembering
but how do i remember this
sitting staring into the emptiness
the imprint will always remain there
of everything you couldn't bare
haunted for eternity
but my soul is finally free