Can you not understand the decay in my soul? Come, bring me life – resurrect me from life’s hole. The earth has lost those that ease and console; the masses seem to only desire hate and control. Why through darkness must writers be made to stroll? Do people know that their pain is set before them as a guide and scroll?
This writer weakens as the summers grow cold; how long must I be the one to be sold? The prideful walk about thinking they are bold; they live their lives unaware that through my words they become the mold.
My eyes are bugging out tonight; wigging out I continually stay out of sight. Seeking I weep into the heavens for a new life; the gods of Olympus seem to only offer me strife. Yet a god amoung the mortal is my charge; “suffer through and through” is my title by and large.
Bring me life... for undead is the misery.
Bring me life... for great is my injury.
Alone I have walked the world; abandoned I call out for death without success. Prepared for the worms I am hurled; why must my life be thrust to chaos and distress! Life within these walls is set to depress; demons constantly at me tear and possess. The locusts eat at my brain as they oppress; tweaked out I feel the maggots continually suppress. My scripts cry out my need to express; yet still there lacks in me the will to impress. Don’t offer me words which sing with finesse; don’t forget that with my words I can will thee to undress!
Abiding in me lives a never ending need to obsess; a disabling arousal which causes me to assess. It is this need that drives me – I confess; a want which yearns for a single love – a caress.
Oh thou that is said to end all things, come and make your presence known. Oh thou called Mr. Grim, come and let me fly on your wings; show yourself and silence my deafening groan!
Bring me life... ending what I am today. Bring me life... for if thou brings me death, happy I will be this day.
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