Ace Of Black Hearts
Sleeping At Her Grave.
Can you feel them to today.
A hand brushing up against your tender face.
Saying don't be sad my dear boy.
There will be another.
That shines like no other.
An angel that whispers at night.
In my ear I can still hear her.
Even to this very day.
The pain is so hard to escape.
But I know that it was never a mistake.
Walking on water.
That is how it felt with what she gave me.
So much confidence, with a genie in a bottle.
Now its all gone.
Trying so hard to not let go.
Why I don't even know.
Love makes you do the strangest things.
Monuments built for moments in which we greive.
A shadow in the eyes to decieve.
Do we even comprehend what any of this really means?
Coming back from the edge, not because I don't want to follow.
But because I'm still here for a reason.
Time is not a ticing clock, but a snapshot.
We will be remembered for what we did no matter if we like it or not.
Even when working in the pouring rain, I will not allow myself to feel the misery.
It is a slippery slope with a very high cliff at the very end.
It is one hell of a drop.
A soul forever lost.
Gone by what means, what actions?
A fools wasted life.
The tradgic motion of a sharp and jagged knife.
Not a sensible good bye.
An unknown afterlife.
Excuses are the green grasses in this never ending feild.
Mowed down on a daily basis for new ones to grow.
To quelch this undying thirst.
A distraction is just not the same.
Drinking sea water.
A temporary relief leaving you worse then before.
So many avenues yet unexplored.
But who really wants to open another pandoras door.
Evils come out that you just can never put back in.
There should have been some kind of warning to begin with.
The mark of the sith.
Invader proclaimed to be negoiater.
What is it you are mediating.
More like instigating.
You can keep your peace.
I rather sleep with the deceased.
Atleast there is comfort in knowing here there is no one out to get me.
Screw me over in the worst kind of way.
And here tonight I stay, under the stars, next to a stone neatly engraved.
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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