He sits in a corner

Awaiting for his second death

Life is just a phantasmagoria



Failing gods

Emerging scars

He is still waiting for the dawn



Ghastly shapes in the ceiling

Enduring visions of torment

Burned to retinas



Cacophony behind the eyes

Never ceases its song

Hell is all about repetition

Eternity in seconds



And for a brief moment

Purgatory around him was silent

Calm before the storm

She ascends



Her laughter is a rope

An iconoclast

Suffocating truth

Happiness was the cyanide



She grabs him

Holds him tight

Like he did

Whispers his sentence



Nowhere to run

Nowhere to hide

Face the judgment

Embrace the cold



He quenches his thirst with pain

By a cold blade to the gut

Grabs the handle with a smile

A twist of a knife

Nothing was lost here