Eight Angles Into Nothingness Poem by Half Past

eight angles he slides into nothingness
careening n churning with lazy finesse
blood splattered arms and bandages over hole
dug from dull razor set to tear out his angry soul
pushed in like pins of needlework upon his living flesh
his body is artwork melded of worn and tattered mesh
licking his lips at the sight of the dimness to set in
purging his body of its force with this act of sin
deeper he drags the wounds by pure will n force
taking out the blood in which his body did always course
no shedding of tears or thoughts of pulling back
he set his goal spiraling down this ever darkened track
leaning over in glory at his pool of blood
as his life drips down in torrents of a sickly flood
he gurgles down his last drops of putrid air
as he slumps forward and passes on in his favorite chair
eight angles his limbs are twisted in
as the devil's lick fangs and grin
eight angles his form is mangled
with bloody liquid o'r ground
his corpse was a haggard rigid mess
when his body is finally found
parents rout with grief
at the sight of thier loving child
who slid eight angles to the abyss
lost in the dark and wild