a shaved head, I grind,
eyes jabbed blind
the unseen, still perceive
so fly to hold the blood-stained tree
for I've no recourse bearing me to cope
because I have been reckoned as already dead
and seek the resurrection bread
of the empty vault, but presently ahead
even if the word doesn't rhyme in time
or in my benighted mind
I cannot continue the same
--for 'son' is in my name
for...

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I slide down a rope
     into the empty chasm 
          which is your cold heart. 
I light a fire 
          in the depths of your despair. 
You hate me anyway. 
It rains. 
An ocean is born; 
          it swallows me whole. 
Darkness engulfs me. 
Surrounded by other misguided souls. 
I feel their cages; 
     I discover mine. 



NOTE: I wrote this at age 15. I have edited it sinc...

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