Come and see the place where she wailed. Witness the bed that is perfectly made and the carpet that is bloodstained. Read the many writings of her pain. See the end of heart-rending journals that bear her name. Reason with your heart, and see how her life could never be the same. Feel the agony she endured, again and again. View the pictures of her smiling before it happened. Experience the aftereffects that rendered her gaunt in her suffering. Bear witness to the listlessness in her movements, her responses, her walking, and manner of talking. Internalize the pain she felt, after her friends and family turned on her, in their apathetic balking. See them now — see them with their eyes filled with tears, crying. Listen carefully, and you can hear the fiber of their souls withering. Extend your arms, and touch the walls that she rested her head in her weeping. Touch the comforters and pillows, that her tears fell and permeated in her sleeping. Close your eyes, and contemplate the aspirations and dreams of a beautiful being. Gather the strands of her hair, that after she brushed, fell on her favorite chair, for safe keeping. Before you go, sign her last entry lovingly, then kiss the door that she was carried through, in her leaving.
Anguished screams narrate the bowels of hell in all its depths. Perpetual falling of dark rain washes away the blood after the opening of veins. Lost in desolation, if they escape death, when they come back — they are never the same. The bloodstream craves euphoria to numb unceasing pain, but after the sun rises, sorrow still remains. They fall to their knees and weep in sincere praying, but sorrow still remains. Please take away the pain. They cry earnestly, please take away the pain. But there is no change — they wail before the sun rises, but there is no change. They want the world to know their names. They so desperately want the world to know their names; and feel the warmth of the sun again. They want to feel the embrace of the warmth of the sun again. Agony seems to never end. The torment seems to never end.
The sorrowful heart, is the pen that writes anguished paragraphs and chapters of torment. The author’s bio is a summary of years of lament. The foreword is written in blood; the book is dedicated to the withered soul’s remnants. The eyes of the reader widens, as the first chapter begins. Tears are shed, and anguished screams are heard, as the final chapter ends.
If I could, I would catch your tears in the wind, and hold them, and make your pain my pain, willingly accepting your burdens; And in my love for you, I will embrace them, hoping in time, the strength of my spirit will erase them; But if all else fails, I will forever carry them, kissing and holding you with tears, thankful to see you smile again; And at my end, I will be lifted up into the heavens, and the deep scarring of my heart will finally mend.
Death whispers in cold breaths promising solace in the throes of agony; I will take away the pain if you just let me. Hair drapes over a chair in a dimly lit room at 2:30. Faces in picture frames stare unemotionally. Her makeup is perfect; Her lipstick and lashes, immaculate. Through a child’s eyes she would be a beautiful doll. Her final act is the unabridged revelation of her torment. In her unmasking there are no subtleties; There are no whispers; There are no mysteries to the state of her reality. Lifelessness is displayed crudely; Its finality is its cruelty. Outside, early morning rain falls in darkness. Inside, there is a preternatural stillness. She is gone forever, leaving behind possessions, And the blood of her essence. She wept in her last moments, listlessly whispering Words that no one could witness. Tears that fell from her eyes, Carried the agony of her remnants.
Pain rains from the eyes of the afflicted Suffering knows no bounds in the void The black hole draws in and slowly consumes Cries and wailing reverberate in echoes of torment Who will record the chronicles of the chronically ill? Desolation takes hold and stifles unmercifully The dead lie in state but their souls restlessly move Sudden darkness covers all as the last rose is thrown Under the black lace veil the last tears are shed for the unknown The crow looks on from the shadows with piercing eyes The rejected and desolate gather so heaven will hear their cries They are counted in the hundreds of millions with sodden eyes In G minor Devil’s Trill Sonata is played It is the dawning of the sun that they eagerly await In the sufferer’s role call one by one they say their names.
That man should dwell in living hell At the final hour thus tolls the bell A life of pain from birth to death Perpetually he sought his rest Despite his search no rest he found The abyss it pulled him to the ground With all he gave and nothing left It was then he felt the devil’s breath.
The gangrenous stench of torment scorches the nostrils The rotten carcasses of many souls lie The ghastly scars of cirrhosis are evident to horrified eyes Under a black moon the fires of agony viciously consume They have been rejected by blood but cry no more Leprous outcasts and wanderers with no home they are They walk the road of hell in hopes of reaching heaven’s door Injured souls seek to repair themselves; The hideous scarring causes the earth to turn away and weep The oceans well up with rising tides Peace and a haven is unceasingly sought with tears and bloodshot eyes.