The Biting Gale
In this winter wonderland I wander, wondering to myself that perhaps the colder I get, the less I need.
The less I feel the better, for all I can feel is pain after all these years.
It is not the past that defines you, it is however, what made me.
And with that past, I've been denied my life.
With my life forfeit from the beginning, am I to be left forsaken by the society that ruined me?
Yes, perhaps I am just another fool with their mindless scribbles across their walls.
Born from agony's sweetest delights, what else can I be than a bitter soul, screaming out my hatred of your ilk.
If these eyes of mine can't see anything, but what is in vain, what is it worth to still look at you?
The wind here is cold, perhaps nearly as cold as it gets in my heart, for within this heart lies a winter's fury.
It knows no mercy, no solace from its own agonizing existence, driven perhaps insane by its own suffocating separation from conscious thought.
In my absence, I have grown cold, bitter, hateful, yet still living, still thriving, for my wrath carries me further than the rest can fathom.
- Kirjaudu tai rekisteröidy kommentoidaksesi
