Thread: The Dying Poet

Solitude and seclusion,
Nothing but these four walls.
All I have is my body,
I don't even have the clothes on my back.
Now there are none
I just have this piece of paper and pen.
I write here on the floor,
The pen tearing the very paper it writes.
Trying to get my emotions out.
Hot is the room,
But Cold the body and soul,
I can't feel myself.
My touch is dead,
My hearing gone,
My sight fading,
I won't be alive long.
My body grows colder by the moment,
I want to keep each breath,
Hoping that the next,
Won't be my last.
Will I survive the night,
Or will I die before I finish this line.
Is all this pain that I have triggered,
By the pain I have always embraced,
Or is it because I am not a part of this world.
"I love you,"
Words for which my soul has been scorched.
I hate the word love,
It has killed me.
Alone again,
As I have been.
I just wished for friendship.
Now it's too late for this man.
To late to play this game,
Never will I live,
The paper's torn so I must stop,
I am dead now and the cold will now take me,
Goodbye cruel world,
I leave my corpse.
Who can love me now?
........................I take my last breath................. Huh............................................

By: Justin (K'Heart) "The mind can be the most dangerous weapon a person has."