Lonely nights, killer streets, sleeps without dreams. I had been sit hours in the dark.
I cried my eyes out. I cried my soul out.
I am empty like a feather in the wind.
I heard knocks on the door, which is behind by me.
Knock….Knock….Knock….
It was the devil by himself. I did not answer, but while I am in the dark it molded me. I can feel screams in my veins.
Cold and dead.
The demons from the past are whispering to my ear.
Leave… Leave…. Leave…
They force me to open my eyes. The dark has became my ally.
The demons bring me down to the hell, where I saw pictures whiches painted me, while a knife is blaming my heart, because of the regrets. There are people on the paintings without faces. They pray for me blindly. I feel fear in the air. There was a road, where I standing. I wanted to walk down, but he grabbed my shoulder and said that:
You cannot became, what you need to become by remaining who you are. I take you home…
The hell is spit me out, because the hell couldn’t handle my demons.
Now I’m standing in the dark, without a soul, without a heart.
Don’t cry… You didn’t kill me, I did…..
Írta: Tiba Patrik
Kiemelt kép: insightpublications
