Haunting

reflections of past lives, rampant in my head
beating against its walls
these moans and calls
reminding me of those who are dead

Hiding behind the curtains of the broken writer
Dancing in a pool of sorrow and pity
Such deep wounds carved into my heart
Such deadly poisons flow through my veins

Death would be a gift to one so cruel
Alas, death is not a friend of mine
Thus, I weep and shed red
I weep......and shed.