I autographed my aftermaths onto blank hate that wouldn't erase. I carved out letters with different colors of expression, but all of them point back to you. Today was one of those times where I'm waiting for the presence of an apocalyptic sky, blinding me with future plans and all of my questions why.
Each line on my canvas was a memory, a stained sense of regret. I felt your abuses inside my lungs, even after all these years. I chose to be silent and just let my spilled quill speak. If the day came where I could walk amongst the living, I don't think I would want such a thing. I have enough diseases to conquer, I have no desire for any more leeches to grasp hold of my fleeting flesh.
I finished the first one, every page was spoken for. My silent heartbeat behind the ever-closing door, it was there. And throughout its pages, where hell wants to read it and heaven knows what it says, you'll find more of me than I care to live for. I'm drowning in thoughts and running out of symbols to replace things I dare not write.
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Adding your comment:
it was very nicely written. 
the imagery in this piece is spectacular. 
