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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem I wrote about a depressed man, self loathing at everything.

Submitted: December 18, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 18, 2013



Cold winds, bitter as lemon attack my naked conscience.

It whips my face red raw, caring little for my self-loathing.

Alone, betrayed by all but my pity, I stand in the warmth of my room; frozen.

Chills from deep within my soul seep out of my dead body, an atmosphere of hatred and despite lingering as a thick, acrid taste.

Caged by the demon within me, I flinch at every movement; memories of the torture inside me, between heart and mind.

I am a mere draugr of the man I was.

From royalty to punishment: in the vile form of ignorance.

No one listens: I murmur to myself; a madman.
Venom spits from my mouth with every word I speak.

My instrument of writing a knife to the soul.

My face sings a song of distraught.

My soul sings a song of odium and antagonism.

No one can salvage me, for I am already expired.

For I am already gone; inebriated with mortality.


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