At this moment of my despair
I have no angles to keep me from this
To keep me from my evil

I am wicked and lonely
My tears are empty and nothing wet falls
I hurt all over and wish to kill

I am lost in an orb of hate
A vacuum of darkness that leads me down
Harsh words scream through me and away

My hell is dense and punishment smells near
Like a crude device locked on my skull
Whispers of life pave my hindsight

A distant genetic call rounds me out
And I lay still, breathing hard
In blood not yet spilled

© 6/25/1997
William Grant Preston

Contact Us