Silence
Mirror, mirror broken on the floor,An unworthy reflection,
Seen through blood and gore.
Blood and gore, recollected by perverse mind, with bloody hands
Hands, that murdered mercilessly, causing:
Cemetaries filled with corpses
Forgotten and left carelessly to rot.
Decomposing flesh hanging off of poverty stricken bones,
Someone walks, unawares, through this scene of terror,
Almost as terrible as humanity itself, but not quite.
The dreary drunkard disgorges vomit, then laughs,
Coughing blood upon unknown detritus.
Darkness fills his vision, consuming his self loathing thoughts,
Loss, for the last drop, of depressive poison,
Contained within a beauteous glass bottle,
Broken, along with the mirror, shards lying, lying, on the floor,
Seven years of bad luck is now resting comfortably upon his worn shoulders,
But only heaven knows if he can last that long,
For his body is shutting down, his liver failing,
He’s drunk himself to death, yet still wants more,
Wrong, is it not?
That heaven has all of the knowledge of what shall happen?
That death cannot take all of us lost souls?
That we have to suffer, while they get out easily,
This is why they invented fire arms,
No, not for warfare,
For a private suicide,
A silencer is all that is needed,
Silence, for the mirror hears all,
Silence, for heaven doesn’t even know,
How much I loathe this venomous living,
Be silent, for we haven’t much more time,
Seven years won’t last us,
Nor even seven weary hours,
Perhaps not even minutes,
These seven oh-so-short seconds,
Are not even what it takes,
Only half a second, for the bullet through my brain,
Only half a second for the drunk to be inert,
After the gunshot, after one last wearying sigh,
We have silence, silence, is my cry,
Silence
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