Unable to be free of future, and haunted by past?
A pricked, numb, brain, with the dead, hopeless mind,
Wanders far from pain, wondering how long hell will last?
I wonder, this. With my last strands of pure, true sanity
Leaning, hope abandoned, against the prison's molded walls
Looking for a way to unleash the deadly burden, to leave.
To join the ghost as they glisten down cold, carefree, halls.
Though, the burden still weights my young, yet frail, shoulders
Hunching my body forward, spine to rippling my scarred back.
I can't leave the burden here, fore innocents to stumble upon,
I must stand tall, tearing to the light, smothered fear of black.
The war may end, but the burden will never leave my soul.
It will remain, and thurst for more, craving every single last ounce.
Violence, insanity and the nightmares it leaves, will help pay the toll.
If I ever return to a life, as care free as I've always wanted to feel,
I'd be sure to hide the burden away from the people I've fought for,
I'd stow it within my blackest secret, that it itself had now become.
I'd thin it down to the last drop, and toss it away, it's ghostly core.
But even then, with me it will surely stay, or I am its solem host.
Fore unlike the slugs we have sworn to our soul to rid with a fight
I look into my mind, heart, soul and back to the burden to wonder,
Perhaps the black deadly burden, is the true parasite?