[im not the kind that kills people
im the one that dies for sacrifice.]
The unbeckoned melancholia
kicks in again
the visions and dreams once possessed
are turned into ashes
the histories are being washed away
with the growing tears
its not like everything reminds me of you now that i cant have you
remembering you is a habit
a curse from the heavens
of mighty disgusting angels where you once bestowed.
happiness has been an urban legend
a mystical creature
a mysteries among the river.
im not a fuckin phoenix
that you burn
and i rise again from the ashes.
im washed away by the mere wind.
so i write you a love letter
from these walls im trapped in
from the day you shot me dead
its all over the walls painted in red
the unreckoned melancholia.
The sanctity of the sanctuary
lingering to the past
the guns of war are rusted now
the barrels only hold the memory of fire
it has forgotten the taste of powder
the spark and the friction
the blood and the demon.
Drenched in the handkerchief of misery
are the stains of victory
the pumping blood of fury
triggers unconscious state of anxiety
search for the bones for some sympathy
nothing seems to hold the world together rather than self empathy.
The laughters are snatched
and joyous ecstasy are blown
100 days of horror
insist upon the revolution
inside lies the shattered glass of tragedy,
violence is the only solution
im only conditioned to die.