I must have been on something...?


True Friends die for You



So pitiful, I almost feel sorry
The look in those eyes
The feel of the skin
Cold and dieing

This pleasure, this body
Is worthless to me now
Empty of terror
A vessel of sin

Quenched is my thirst now
This one's soul was vast with hope, and dreams yet to unfold
Like a parasite I have fed off these souls
Ate away their life

From the first cut, to their last breath
I welcome their screams
I take in their pain
It is theirs to give, mine to take

Crimson are my tools
Black are my eyes
The colors of death my mind
The next vessel has been chosen

Concealed by the shadows
Waiting
For it has fallen into my mind, my trap
It will now quench my thirst

These screams don't satisfy
This blood isn't red
For this was a stranger
Not a friend




Poetry by Sithre Lateralus
Read 701 times
Written on 2005-06-07 at 00:14

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Who was the stranger.... the friend at the hand of their slayer or the one that wields the mortal blade that cuts into the friend...

There could be a faint stench of traitorous pulses beating, waning, fading, ceasing....
2006-08-18