Emo-esque tales of Razors slitting the cord
My spirit is tainted like an Ouija board
Arching Daemons summoned my name,
at the belly of Hell's burning wave.
In tune with the wind's shrieking fame,
The Moon was hung on my dampened grave
as a portrait of pain and despair.
Hand-held by Death's debonair,
A heart once cantered on Biblical lies
Cherubian Daemons that my soul now defies.
'For my song may not be gospel, yet
feared in life and Death.
I am one whom none reject
I'll always be there- Till your final breath.'
'Aw, Stop claiming your life is over,
for it has but begun.
Starry nights; a pearly shore to Her
even though the noose is tightly strung...'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem