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Array
(
[sid] => 23762
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Swan Song
[time] => 2003-09-24 22:25:00
[hometext] => If I were to die, this is how it'd probably go.
[bodytext] => Gazing blankly at the sky I have no feelings. Scars the shape of well-worn crucifixes adorn my skin My beloved little children. Falling from the earth downwards Don't dare to come and look for me I'm going down alone into the pit of hell. The sirens won't find me in time Staggering, stumbling and clutching at Death's waiting room. These knuckles are bruised with sin and retribution Heaven cries for justice And I'm giving it to her. Crimson colours bleed together to form a fatal waterfall on my body. Weeping down my shoulders and converging down my back This is the pathos I've become. If they can manage to find me Tell them to condemn me It's all they ever do. Don't speak of me in sonnets Or lie me in a comfortable grave I'm digging my own right here Dirt as a pillow and suffocation as my blanket. Time is a traitor; he's on their side He's got a hand penetrating my insides Trying to grasp the heart and deaden it sooner. And when I stop shaking, trembling When I combust into a shower of blood Stay clear of me, don't try to purify me I have no wish to keep on staying Legless and panting Shuddering at the loss of myself Bathing in a sea of spraying red I will be going soon I hope you'll be singing a closing tune. You won't remember me Goodbye. [comments] => 7 [counter] => 261 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Avarice_Riot [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 15 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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