The Cycle Goes On

winter is cold
but people are colder still
the city is jovial
you’ve seen

bright yuletide lights
in contrast to your mood
sitting there in front of your monitor
with darkness
your homepage glaring back at you
darkness….you live there
yor hands are red
your underpants are crimson
you cut yourself again
your wrist is open
like a journal,
with the blood gashing
and your feet is viscous
with the half clotted blood
as the addictive smell
is reaching your olfactory
lulling you to sleep

then tomorrow
you’ll find your wrist
wrapped in thin bandage
soak with the red colloid
with hair thin dried drips
your only hold in this world….
the clotted thread of blood.

And you’ll go to the sink and ask
then you’ll realize
as sanity began to fall piece by pice
things the night before

afterwards youll
be sinking again even more deeper
onto the pit of despair
you did it again
but a failure

and the cycle goes on…

there are thousand other
goths like you
hanging by the thread
then one by one
their threads would snap
they sink and descend onto
the dark arena

and the cycle goes on…
wrist are slashed
skin would leak
blood would clot
thread would snap
souls would sink and descend
darkness will shroud
then a soul or two
is gone…