Ace Of Black Hearts
Trying To Escape That Which Is Within.
Even with the sun shinning.
There is no resolution.
A story book conclusion.
Broken and lonesome.
The whispers hold secrets that need to be divulged.
A dark desire from the blood lust of vampire.
Creature of the night, burns upon the day light.
From flesh to bones something is always missed.
Does the heart truly stop beating?
Trying to speak and the only thing that comes out is a mere hiss.
It's not who I am.
A man not one of the damn.
Hell has no fury like the present.
The past is already forgotten or is it?
A candle light vigil in ones mind.
Remembering only the good times.
A deluded illusion.
A vacuum full of pollution.
It is trying escape.
Trying to take.
Like a plant rooted and ready to grow from inside of the naked seed.
But it needs, something left to be found.
A lost puppy looking for his master.
A heartaches disaster.
Tear down the previous walls and put up the plaster.
If love can't be found within one must look outside.
A forked road with no direction.
Never made it there because I got lost at the intersection.
A confession to a prison.
I gave you the key and you locked me up in.
And even with door open I would not know what to do.
Because it is the only life I have ever known.
Isolations protections, and projections.
They're still infecting me.
And nothing you do can save me.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
Edgar Albert Guest
(20 August 1881 - 5 August 1959)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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