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  • Decay

    Tasting the disease since the first day
    I woke up in this blackened world
    Don't know if I'm alive or in fact dead
    But I'm suffering anyway

    Nothing can ever take it away
    I'm enslaved by the illness of God
    I can make it through or perhaps crumble down
    Into the waters of another unconscious state

    My senses are rewired, until I'm driven insane
    My vision of a future blurred to no detail
    It's slowly killing me and there's nothing I can do
    Except to fester, and perhaps die in vain

    As I suffer
    I ask myself
    Why am I feeling?
    Why am I feeling the wrong way?
    It must be the decay
    That lurks inside of me

    Now, everything grows silent, fade to grey
    It must be the beginning of a sad brutal end
    I lived my life long enough only to feel myself
    Break to pieces, and if there was some form of hope
    I didn't have to suffer this way

  • #2
    Bry89, "I'm enslaved by the illness of God" - a brilliant line! So was Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, and so many other philosophers and men and women of letters.


    • Bry89
      Bry89 commented
      Editing a comment
      That was just a spur-of-the-moment, I must confess :P

  • #3
    sad poetry of pure suffering. well expressed.