Inner Horror

Inner Horror

Often I sit with father time,
To contemplate my life of crime.
As he slowly speaks to me,
His words part the darkness and make me see.
All the joy I thought was certain,
Ripped away like a dusty curtain.
He describes my twisted fate,
My mind in a comatose state.
The distorted images begin to unfold,
Visions of the wicked destroying the bold.
I open my mouth to ask why,
But on my lips the words die.
Illusion being all that's in my sight,
My own hallucination of that night.
Horrors that I sought to slay,
Torture me this very day.

Tru

December, 09 2005