Death

It tried to show it's pretty ugly mirage.

It came unannounced, yet prepared,

To bag yet victim who's life

Didn't seem to matter anymore.



Death came quietly.

Wrapped in white hospital sheets,

Clear perfect views, with consistent pains from

Heartaches we never talk about, and endless

Junk to forget things that should always be

Left in the dark.



Death came with an accommodation,

To sooth the pain from my dying limps,

To quiet my raging echoes of him in my mind,

And the lingering aftermath of what he left behind.



Death seemed comforting.

When everything else came and left,

Death came and wanted to protect me,

to cover me from any more hurt,

And build a home within the confides of hell,

Knowing I'd rather wish He was burning for

All the lies he uttered in this lifetime.



Death felt like home.

A comfort that nobody would understand,

Nor care for because all it did was take.

But in all I've been through, death was the only

Thing that could never change.

It was there.



Constant, dark, quiet and still,

Letting me breath for the first time in three years,

And giving me peace, a place where I could find my serenity,

A safe haven if you may.



Death came, but left a little too soon,

Pushed me back to life, making me wonder,

Between the two of us, who was really going to benefit from this?

Black_Phoenix
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