In this battle to delude the mind of all failed victories, I have lost.
Time to fly on broken wings, my blood writing and painting the world as ruins fall.
The journey to test reality opposes deadly obstacles draped with deceits sweat.
The familiar sound of an angel’s harp sends more of the hemorrhage through the heart, inducing an empty attempt to heal.
Everything holy and divine tends to release tears of loneliness as I hold nothing in my empty embrace.
Times like these are when we try to find an opening to that forgotten place.
But in all makeshift time, the dream process concludes yet another empty attempt to heal.
The last night of my life drains.
Too many failed attempts unravel a man to his lowest of low existence.
So for this, I lay in this blood filled tub and await the emptiness of my veins.
My last attempt at healing.