|Soul of a Knightmare
Author: Knightmare Elite PM
I sit in this chair with fingers on the keyboard and I wonder..why do I do this? Is there a method behind the madness of Knightmare Elite, or am I simply a deluded fool?Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst - Words: 420 - Reviews: 4 - Published: 04-26-05 - id: 1896955
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Soul of a Knightmare
By Knightmare Elite
God, save me from this pain stemming from my soul.
I cry, I die all for what I am told.
It is always the same whenever they say my name.
It's not for who I am but simply what I am.
This is my solace of plain and pure.
For their acceptance so much bullshit I must endure.
I can't stand the feeling of being alone, but my stance is always so monotone.
Why couldn't I be a little stronger not just a simple drone?
No one understands what its am like to be me.
They look at me down with such contempt and pity.
I am human I cut and I bleed but that is why they stare.
Across my temple of a body shows the markings of recourse I bear.
They look at me all and smile straight to my face.
Turn away then pause for an empathetic embrace.
What the fuck do they think they can erase?
Can a little affection and smile turn my pain to waste?
I hurt because I choose to bear a pain so pure.
It is all I have in this world I can physically endure.
They take my soul and slash my pride.
I only want what is left inside.
I hurt because it's all I know, the only door I cannot shut.
From their eyes I could be a sick freak who would cut.
In reality that isn't such the case, I'm too pussy to touch a blade.
I hide behind this shallow masquerade for only time it will bade.
Time is my friend for it is quit limitless all power in its glory.
It's what I use to wallow in my pitiful life of a story.
Who am I many people wonder, am I really darkness emanating from your heart?
No such luck, I am merely where all your questions start.
I cry and bleed then purge my pain on digital paper.
My soul so dark without this light my writing turns my essence to vapor.
I am free in that form to infect all who read.
See my soul, my life, and my literary seed.
Oh but why God have you created one such as me.
I exist simply to feel within a world I can never see.
I am ignorant of this very humanity so powerful yet I am so trite.
All I have is your gift to me, the ability to write.