WastedMature

Something personal, for once

 I've wasted everything, everything's fallen apart as it always does in the end. All that's left is the end of the line and the bottom of the bottle, the hangover ensues. Everythings stained red with the blood of innocents who's lives I'd taken in pure strife, yet the kill was indirect. Funny, I always hated the people who did that. The scars on my arm pour out all the sins that had beenn piling up inside. The black stains the sheet and I'm drowning in my lies and self pity.

The smoke spreads through the air and I'm too high on my pain to notice my lungs and soul are decaying with every breath. My hearts beating like a lion after it's prey. I finally find the part of me that doesn't want to be this screwed up anymore, to finally give in to the one thing that will turn me back.

 I pray for my soul, that it might not rot like it deserves. I lie beneath the cross and pray that God will end me now, and begin anew, before this dance with the devil resumes

 

The End

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