Crisis Wretched
i'm so cold. nothing on the inside. so burn me so cold. no one to hold. so burn
this body i'm not feeling anymore. chilling, now i'm turning to stone. so burn
this wretched body angel ambrace this disheveled wretch. i am the thief who
hides the light beneath the filth of burning fingers smothered under not quite
drowning reaching over, not quite living this is the gravedigger who throws his
own body beneath the shit you tread carry me there, regret the life tarry onward
running away calloused these ribs hold no more than hollowness- a hole dug as my
grave, though i'm buried insode my head. already dead to your touch, to your
light. your eyes march forward with c o n d e m n a t i o n.. feel this solitude
burn with me.
