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Description
Faces carved into his back...
Histories fading from what he lacks,
desperation for blood he has.
Decisions to cut, the veins dying fast.

The window's down and the bottles drowned,
an attempt to kill the inner clown
to drown out the mocking cries
that whisper to him all his lies.

Then the walls cave in when the ceiling fades off,
and over his face is draped the blood drenched cloth.
Then on passes the still and silent night,
along with the sun when the day shines bright.

Outside, the wind blows slowly and the birds sing light
and everyone's oblivious to the obvious sight.
In the room, there sleeps the imminent doom
lit only by the whispering moon.

The room is filled with the overpowering stench
rising from the corpse of the forgotten wretch.
On the floor, his dark body still sleeps.
Dreaming in limbo, his soul remains weak.