The Broken Quill

Once the body was numbed from the pain

When the flame of life died out

Figures rose from the pages he wrote

The broken fragments of his soul

His eyes became the gateways to hell

The hands that caressed were now bloodied and bruised

The shadows of himself watched in pity

At the man trapped within his body

Bruises were painted with the memories

Lips were speaking without any words

The phantoms of yesterday battered him with blows 

Not an ounce of mercy was shown to their creator

Rapidly rising was his chest

Speaking of a fate inevitable

One of death at the claws of his works

That were digging deep into his skin

He tore his matted hair from his scalp

Cursing the life he never got to have

One wraith ceased its punishment and

Instead, it took his shape

Memories flashed in front of his eyes

The words he wrote were vultures in his mind

The him that was his spirit grabbed his quill

And broke the feather into two

That was the end of his days

What he saw last as the darkness engulfed him,

Darkness that was unlike any he experienced before,

Were the leering faces of his soul