Misery.

In a world where restless spirits dwell

There are countless dreadful tales to tell

But no tale ended as terribly

The death that is mine

Deep lacerations bleeding unchecked,

flowing with a pain that cannot heal.

Ripped and torn apart,

It often comes to earth to visit

Staying with all who will have it

Pulling you down next to its side

Until all of your hopes

The man in the mirror is a sorry sight
Out of energy and out of fight
Through his eyes I see his soul
An empty void, a cold

The cold and lonely wasted worn
forgotten urchins of the night,
now suffer spiteful, hurtful scorn;
still punished for their