SoulReserve

A Melancholic Song

If melancholia was written in song,
the words would drip,
suicide,
murder,
and rage;
Age old flames,
depressed to a blue,
wretchedness;
Failure to wake up,
and have a say;
To stop,
things from hurting,
this way;
Floating on the mass of water,
eaten by the inner algae,
not reaching any shore,
bloated,
with black fever,
of dispair;
Dead inside and about,
unwilling,
undecided,
tears mixing with the water;
Evenly,
throughout the skin,
and the feeble breath,
escaping into screams;
Blocked by the constrictions,
of the throat,
and the hands chocking it,
slowly.

© soulreserve 2015

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