• azentra 1w

    Shackles

    I had cast myself in iron.
    I clawed at the sheets of vaporous myrrh,
    Screaming with what I thought,
    Was someone else's voice,
    Which somehow I could hear,
    But the gods couldn't discern,
    As they were busy,
    Heeding the moans of desire.
    The mirror was cracked,
    My plans had been jacked,
    I fell into the arms of the night.
    My eyes had closed,
    It skipped death's doors,
    And instead took me directly to hell's gate.
    I woke up in a field of roses,
    Divulgence in big doses,
    Only to realise,
    I was tricked.
    The thorns bared out,
    They snared at my flower,
    And pricked through,
    My porcelain skin.
    The wounds were the same,
    They never changed place,
    Who ever thought that pain,
    Could be numbed with pain?
    I had died inside,
    With every second that passed,
    I stood looking at the golden gateway,
    Just looking at the golden gateway.
    I was too alive.
    Too alive to die,
    Too alive to live again.

    ©azentra