My humble mind sometimes succumbs in morbid thoughts,
thoughts that a man can never and must not possibly think.
Images of grey flesh,shrinking and melting as it rots...
Some inner melancholic hymn forces me in such fantasies to sink.

Perhaps my continuous dives into sadness
caused my mind to bleed.
And I've become another victim of madness
by all these emotions I hid.

Great poets always suffer
simple men suffer too
I wonder what my life will offer
a dead end or a hole to pass through?

I feel the laces of despair.
They are right behind my back.
Black as the color of my hair
erasing any traces of luck.

Maybe heaven is against me
but I don't really care.
I know and I see
that I won't go there.

Lucifer ordered for a little fire
and a great iron shell.
there is no way I can get any higher.
I have reserved my own personal place in hell.

Say,The ravens will come
to eat me whole
and I will roam
and on dirt I will crawl.

But until then,I live
I continue to feel.
And I breathe
and kick on walls made of steel.

A marble stone is carved right now
and my name is on it.
Please don't ask about how
right now I'm very weak.

The death I experience is in my head
I see my insides displayed as I rot
I have been over a thousands times dead
and I try to realise why right now I'm not.

I killed myself and I saw my ride
to the morgue,then to the grave.
a dirty sheet my cut wrists to hide
and my relatives from the sight to save.

Truly rediculous I must be,imagining such awful deeds
Why don't I shed my life and let someone else shed the tears?
The anwer is simple and your curiosity feeds:
These fantasies I have are also my fears.