Silent Hill: Dismember The Days
Poem 24: Cynthia, The Dreamer With A Temptation
Render me your angelic lust,
Hand to me your guidance,
In those brisk steps I trust,
And I cry for brute silence…
My degenerate flesh is generally exposed,
I am shattering my own apt humanity,
The sickness enters from blacked head to blemished toe,
And I make this station my blight impurity…
Butcher! Butcher!
He is butchering my reign!
Slaughter! Slaughter! Slaughtering!
He is putting me to shame!
It is clear that he longs to touch me…
Disable the bullets, please,
I am not your snaring enemy.
My hair entangles every aspect of me,
You trail it like a disease…
Everyone… everyone runs or falls like a childish languor,
I am assuming that they mourn my lonely imperfection,
I guess… I guess that I will just remotely and indecisively waste away here,
I am remaining Cynthia, the dreamer with a temptation.
END: POEM TWENTY-FOUR
This was a request.
It was kind of hard, too…