Sorrow

Sorrow.

Dark thoughts fill my mind, making tenuous my benevolent bind and distressing my already grief-stricken soul.

Cut wrists cry crimson tears; awakening my most mortal fears with fervor.

The most forbidding of all fears causing these grisly crimson tears: thy name is suicide.

Those feelings of such despondent taste wipe out the expression in my face, while forlorn hopes of a poignant life shadow the joy with morose strife.

Isolation is the key to subside this wretched mood; Hopes of love and approbation force this cumbersome location to envelop an apropos intransigence for a listless, grieving fool.

Oh suicide, pity my frazzled mind; my wrists crimsoned from my dark plight; the miserable stare of a melancholy youth; disdainful ideals giving my lucidity the evil eye, and the soulless attrition of an unshakable pain that shall cause the wrists to cry tears of crimson sorrow.

Save me from this cruel fate through which there is no escape, and I shall clean the facade of a past ungainly sorrow.

by Loboshinbo
posted on 03/05/2007