Even though the thought of it,
Makes me die inside,
As you lie on your death bed,
Hearing the screams of genocide.
She sings the song of poison,
Hearts and a lullaby,
As she sits and waits in the dark,
For death to slowly come by.
Why oh why, baby,
Why did you lie,
She screams as the toxins take over her body,
As the virus consumes her from inside.
She’s lost herself..for the last time,
In the painful tears she cried,
She wishes to be found only once more,
Only to be told she was a worthless whore,
Found, and shattered…
Death comes knocking at her door.
And she faces the being,
She once adored,
She tells him goodbye,
As she falls cold, stiff as a board.
Many moons pass and many nights wasted,
Dreaming of lips she wished still tasted,
The scent of his essence still lingers within,
As she lies under the stars repenting past sin.
Dear child, don’t cry, just get some rest,
And let me lift the guilt from your chest,
All you have to do is dream and remember the sight,
Of what was once a beautiful December night.
Once you were a princess, on a pedestal,
Delicately placed so you would not fall,
Hidden behind your plaster mask,
No one ever knew, so no one had to ask.
But deep within your bruised heart,
Lies a sanctuary falling apart,
Piece by piece, the walls come down,
By every tear, moan, and frown.
You lie there sitting in your broken home,
Wishing not to be alone,
But all you get is a silent groan,
As you fall faster & deeper, down,
Down to earth upon thy broken ground,
The beautiful being fell apart,
Gasping for air beyond her heart.
With angel wings covered in dirt and blood
The velvety red feathers falling into puddles of mud,
Her halo was slipping, down around her neck
She made a mistake, this immoral wreck.
Just to wonder where she had gone wrong,
Repeating all, like that of a non-stop song,
Wondering where it had begun,
Hearing the voices of the screaming sun.
Alas, scars heal and bruises fade,
But no one can forget this lonely masquerade.
As time swept by,
With the tears she wept and knew she’d cry,
Came an end to the tale of the lonely stare,
Wishing not for Malebolgia’s cold dark glare.
She sat alone as her wounds began to heal,
Wanting to know if she could still feel.
Screams of deceit and groans of regret,
Led her to see that she was to expect the worst yet,
Waiting for the call,
Of not few but all,
To help her forget to remember,
That dark, black day back in December.