Friends to the end.
Or so I thought as my intend.
Others see me from a different spring.
A patient b*****d, a normal human thing.
But I thought not.
My generation would be the death I thought.
Alone in the night
My writings would bring me to sight.
Now my near-blind eye can see.
The lies throughout my life, only me.
When Satan was in his tint of red.
I thought I was left for dead.
Persuading the code of the damned.
My mind was split of walls, it was crammed.
The mystery of that leaves me ill.
But yet still reminds me still.
Spellbound by my art.
An emptiness inside my heart.
From a fountain in heaven.
From the hellish torture numbers one to eleven.
When the skies were so blue.
Of a Demon in My View.
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Poetry.
The Artist's last poetry on this horrid site.
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