Night Gallows

There is a hanging tree over my bed

on it dangles a corpse

the life I wanted that was executed

for trying to escape this agony,

this slow death of silence

where I am trapped

like a condemned prisoner

while the world creates walls

that continually press against me.

 

Inside the wounded heart screams

it only inspires the ghouls and zombies

from trips to some torture chamber

my life was trapped during a moment

of somebody’s idea for sick pleasure.

 

They’ll dissect me without any anesthetic,

another operation to remove my identity

leave me gutted of any sense in worth.

 

Perhaps a grave await to end this waiting

at the crossroads between

melancholy and misery,

but the only guide I’ve met

is a maniac without a conscience

who just specializes in butchering my happiness.

 

If only the brain could kill

those creatures who visit

as peddlers of hate

then perhaps these wounds that keep on bleeding

could have a chance to heal.

 

Until then I walk over the headstone

placed next to my bed

by the one’s who already

treat me as a corpse,

who has no feelings or deserves love

for whom the term RIP

means Rest In Pain.