Stalins War
The Rebirth
Take one persons tragedy and force the world to experience it.
And spread it like sickness.
If happiness is a warm gun.
then pull the trigger and let me feel the blood
run down my back, into my lungs.
show me something real; give me something i can touch;
give me the chance to grasp this pain, to use it to my advantage.
as the blood seeps through my lungs
my whole world shatters into a million pieces.
on my hands and knees, i crawl through broken glass
mirrors in my eyes. where my dreams once used to lie.
this is a disease i can't control.
it infitrates every cell, every thought, every part of my being.
sweat, and tears, and blood have all been deemed meaningless;
the antidote has been found, but the cure remains fatal
to reality i know.
nihilism once killed a dream
and sparked a flame which never died,
that grew and birthed into something terrible
which destroyed the world and destroyed his mind.
he never knew what murdered his hope
and why through his eyes he saw only black;
nothing remained that was worthy of substance.
blood seeped from his eyes, as he swallowed his tears
and the boy was sad.
and the boy was sad.
and the boy was sad.
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