Art

my blood will be wine and my tears will be jokes

to those waiting for the death of my words.

my back can't carry their legacy and

their pride won't let me write my own.

where should I go with a stab in my soul?

for I've been fallen in this pit since I was nine,

and now I've gone mad in endless nights.

my language is dead and my screams are songs,

even my hemoglobin rusted long ago.

I've worshiped false god with all my might,

but the devil is finally here to feed upon my life.

I'm tired of living in the shallow, I wanna be in the deep end;

even if I drown with the tears tied to my feet.

crows and vultures would have a great feast,

for they will get their revenge and strength.

I'm not afraid....for all curses must break.