This aching pain dwelling within my soul, with every memorie.. with every breath forced into these lungs.. never ceasing to stop. I attempt to create happiness, and find that of witch i had lost. But there never was any. My eyes a waterfall, a well never running dry, a puddle on the paper in witch we speak. Writing this letter for the last time to a broken home, as my soul bleeds in a dark crimson red pooling around my body. My weak fragile body, broken and bruised, skin without color. I'm living, yet I'm dead, skin so pail, eyes so.. so unreal.. no emotion behind them. Nothing will ever be the same, if there's one thing he's taught me.. it's that hate is not the opposite of love, because in hate there is still caring. Anger, no apathy, apathy is the opposite of love, and apathy is the cause of my empty soul. My enemy.

sorrow can leave you spending in a frame
with so much guilt and so much pain
it wraps its spiny fingers against my heart
one more beat, the blood flows out
i thought it was mere imagination
until i felt the horrid sensation

I lay cold on a heap of shattered hopes
and i accompany deserted souls
i'm left buried in this hole
trapped

My soul seeks your answers
as you feed it lies
all the trust i ever had in you
well let me tell you
it all FUCKING dies

Who where we playing?
ourselves and this anger
we both knew forever
would lead to this pain