Luna Constella � March 30, 2000 ~ 8 p.m.
My body might be giving in, but my mind never will� I could be held aback by some illness, a demon that tortures my earthly shell� but my mind�s tempests shall take over my soul� and as I lie, bedridden for days, I get possessed by this uncontrollable urge to write� there�s an inexplicable force fighting its way out of my head�
In the silence of my mind, a thought so mute yet so loud rattles my being and drowns my soul. It pulls me down a spiraling abyss of greatness and shame, pushing me to the throes of insanity but hoisting me to this pedestal of numbness and bitter hopelessness�
Death Wound
Life is spurting from this hole in my chest The future now is spilled, Wasted into useless pools of scarlet haze In this hollowed darkness the shattered stars sting the moon's oblivion The sky droops closer to conquer me though a glimmering silence hollers on My youthful idealism returns in desperate gasps as I struggle from Death's strangling grasp Fate pounds its relentless mortal to choke and trap these breaths of hope The world's voices drum a lamenting buzz, drowning my mind's screaming plea: Stop my heart's fretful flee Duty beckons and dreams abound Pull me back to Life's awaiting arms But alas my heart pumps its last to unveil Death's lingering silence And as warm visions of Life grow cold in this final trickle I desert this gory emptiness to hug the tranquil sky.