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Cause my ghosts are real
Whispers in my head, never listens to what I say. Creeping into my dreams, making my nightmares seem real. But are they real, I don't know. It scares me to believe, that these whispers may deceive. Deceive me for they are all I have. Without them I am nothing a vast abyss. Cause my soul lingers among the dead, I fly through windows seeking something, unknown. The experience is overwhelming thought, I can't seem to find the words to say, I can't feel day, It's not wrong if no one sees me. I just hope they believe. Cause my ghosts are real, this ghost can't feel, but it can make me feel. Now I rest holding onto my last breath, my dear friend, the ghost has brought me to my death.
I lie here on the floor. My self hatred and disgust all running through my mind. My wish to live fading into a despising of that very life. I wish not to live this pitiful, disgusting excuse of a life. I take into my hand a rusty knife and look into the darkness that one wonderful strike against the flesh. It is time for me to feel my last depression. It is time for me to cast the final slice into life. It is time that my ugly disgusting life came to an end.
To Late to Change the Spread of the Minds Sorrow
As the knife cuts into the dark heated depth of my sorrow, the tears flow in red streams from my soul of sorrow and pain. No tears from my mind flow alone now as the depth of the pain is now flowing to the floor in puddles that others never have seen behind the masks that I have created to hide the depth of darkness I am in. As the puddle grows and the darkness becomes true and total, alone stands the lies of false emotions expressed to the world to hide the gloom. I post a sign to warn others of the spill spreading and growing, but no one notices. Just as the foot prints that were left but others before, the puddle now grows and covers those whom neglected the signs in the past. As my sorrow finally comes to a true and complete end, the ripples in the puddle only now can be seen by those who passed through the puddle earlier, to late to change the spread of the minds sorrow.