December 14, 2011
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Walking alone is better,
Than being trapped in the iron vice of dark,
To feel nothing,
Except perhaps the rabid, smelling, dank beast of Cold,
Its poison dripping tongue rolling up and down my body,
Like its deranged, grotesque and fowl monstrosity of a being owns me.
My soul has now turned,
To watch the dark.
To watch the writhing and contorting shapes of angels,
Who fell to the excruciating fires of Hell,
Who were burnt to ashes by my blood-scorching eyes.
I have become a monster,
Living in neither day,
Nor night.
But in Death.
Lovely Death,
My Savior,
My Love,
My Monster.

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This article has 4 comments. Post your own now!

NightGoddess17 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Dec. 22, 2011 at 7:32 pm
Wow dreamin, this is sooo good! Very descriptive!!! Excellent job!! :)
DreamInTheRain replied...
Dec. 24, 2011 at 12:39 am
Thankxx you so much!
Wonderment said...
Dec. 22, 2011 at 7:31 pm
Once again I love the language. You are really good at discribing things. Good poem.
DreamInTheRain replied...
Dec. 22, 2011 at 7:40 pm
Thank you soo much! ^_^
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