Pain

Pain{b/}
The red ocean that curls and wraps itself around my ankles is my soul. The rain that cries from the skies is my inner pain, my inner hate of myself. I am exiled from hell, no longer seen as anything; I crawl and fall into a hole where I will forever rot. These words mean nothing, they are no comfort to this distorted soul that can't find a thing to keep it sane. I cut through this hand of thoughts, and I bleed myself dry, trying to find a new self-meaning. But this pain that I feel, the pain that leads me to write is my only true comfort. I write to set myself free, I jot down these words and I find myself staring at a tower. It is made of iron and it twists high in this inner vally full of black roses and blood red rivers slowly trickling away my once known sanity. The tower looms and twists it's way through the cold dark mist of time; it is always there to bring me pain. I am reminded of hate when I see this tower inside of myself. I see the blood of my past lives flow over my living soul.