The sun is reduced to a line of molten ruby across the sky,

Fire, a fence made out of used matches separates me from the mainstream,

Wisps of smoke drifting into the sky, circles of grey, portals into a heaven of flames.

Glorified hell, angels burning like witches, tied to the stake of make-believe sins.


Through the disaster, into the inferno,

Charred skeletons of demons at war with scabbed-wing angels,

Borderline-whatever, the divisions are blurred by the darkness.


The walls of the abyss colapse in flame,

Angels destroyed, demons defined by depression.

These manic days and self-harm nights pass in a haze,

A haze of smoke, I will burn you down.

Atone for the abuse you gave, repent for sins in fire.

The End

73 comments about this poem Feed