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Glue boi (pprkutted) wrote,
@ 2003-08-07 19:30:00
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    Death greets him warm
    Like the heat from
    The fire of dying life
    Only the hearth
    Can keep the poor man warm
    The last place for his swollen soul
    The eye
    Of a weary man
    Starts to slowly
    close into sleep
    What was once his
    Is now gone
    Left only with memories
    Of yesterday's past
    Roaming the earth
    For his last few days
    He stares at his past
    And watches his fall
    From the heights of a killing man
    To the man he sees in the mirror
    Torn and withered
    He sleeps so soundly
    In the depths,
    Of his everlasting hell?


    -From an assignment for the book December Stillness...


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