killingthepoor

Its all so clear now god has left us all sooo lonely and hes left us here to die what makes god then of all the curses deep that daily reach his seraphin divine? like a tyrant gorged with meat and wine, our blasphemous music lulleth him to sleep sometimes i think my blood in waves appears, springs as a fount with music in its tears, i hear it trickling with long murmuring sound, but search myself in vain to find the wound my love's a bed of needles made to pierce, that drink be given to these women fierce

He awoke to the sound of screaming, but it as nothing new to him. The smell of moist dry wall, mold, vomit, and piss filled his piss infested hell hole which he calls home. he just lay there on the mattress he found in the alley, the one with tape on the surface to keep the springs from popping out. He was still thinking about getting up. their was no food, but lately he had no appetite, but he didn't a real job to go to, no family to visit, and the thought of any social interaction was like picking at a scab, it just uncovers the wound and reminds you of the scar, and it gets worse with puss. Finally he got up to save himself from exploding