EPTIn the snow where I wake,
Blood is on my two hands.
Headless screams spill,
From dead promises now.
These deaths I disavow.
Though suicidal still,
Simply, none understand,
The bleak path I must take.
Haunting the new sunshine,
The silence is slaughtered.
Forcing up writhing wraiths,
From freezing mental graves.
It's their humor I crave -
The joy in their dead face.
A brief moment's falter,
As fire sweeps the pine.
Tortured flames are blazing,
In all of their horror.
Silencing the desires,
Of my bleeding heart.
And so I do depart;
Away with scalding fires.
I may have been a monster,
But at least I was something.
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