Month of Murder

The sun rises from its silent grave
and the winters cold heart melts away.
Beautifully hughed flowers
show their monstrous faces.
Brightly colored things mean nothing to me.
How are you supposed to see the world
as it should be seen when you feel like you're in Hell?

I thought I could be healed after the December chill,
making me suffocate,
but it just won't let me breathe.
I look for you in everyone.
Damn words keeps ringing in my ears,
and shadows follow wherever I go.

The suns rays burned my skin
after hours of staring in the distance.

All I ever wanted was you,
but you murdered it with your lines;
A gruesome, gory mess.
Just look at the blood on your hands.
That was the month of my murder.